THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


of  c&elgazde 


TRIMOUSETTE. 


Q°/ 

One 


of     uelgatde 


G&y 

StUot 


D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 
NEW   YORK  MCMVIII 


ssreran 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  June,  1908 


ps 

-?T 

SnX 


TO 
THE   DEAR   MEMORY   OF 

HENRIETTA 


1522215 


CON  TENTS 


PART   ONE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— TRIMOUSETTE 3 

II. — THE  DUCHESS  OF  BELGARDE                         .  18 

PART   TWO 

III. — A  PRESENT  FROM  THE  DUKK  ....  29 

IV.— MADAME  DE  VALEN^AY 35 

V. — THE  EARTHQUAKE 53 

PART  THREE 

VI. — DIANE'S  OPINION 63 

VII. — CITIZENESS  BELGARDE -2 

VIII.— THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  HONEYMOON   .        .  83 

IX. — TO-MORROW p6 

X.— THE  STAR I0; 


CHARACTERS 


TRIMOUSETTE 

COUNTESS  OF  FLORAMOUR 

COUNT  VICTOR  OF  FLORAMOUR 

FERNAND,  DUKE  OF  BELGARDE 

MADAME  DE  VALENCAY 

ROBESPIERRE 

Louis  FREDERIC,  VICOMTE  D'ARONDA 

MADAME  ELIZABETH 


PART  ONE 


CHAPTER    I 

TRIMOUSETTE 

JN  the  great,  green  old  garden 
of  Madame,  the  Countess  of 
Floramour,  sat  her  grand- 
daughter, little  Mademoiselle 
Trimousette,  wondering  when 
she  was  to  be  married  and  to  whom.  Such  an 
enterprise  was  afoot,  and  even  then  being  ar- 
ranged, but  nobody,  so  far,  had  condescended 
to  give  Trimousette  an}'  of  the  particulars. 
She  was  stitching  demurely  at  her  tambour 
frame,  while  in  her  lap  lay  an  open  volume 
of  Ronsard.  Every  now  and  then  her  rosy 
3 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgardc 

lips  murmured  the  delicious  verses  of  the  poet. 
A  very  pale,  quiet  little  person  was  Mademoi- 
selle Trimousette,  with  a  pair  of  tragic  black 
eyes,  and  something  in  her  air  so  soft,  so 
pensive,  so  appealing,  that  it  almost  made  up 
for  the  beauty  she  lacked.  Although  the  only 
granddaughter  of  the  rich,  the  highly  born 
and  the  redoubtable  Countess  of  Floramour, 
little  Trimousette  was  the  very  soul  of  humil- 
ity, and  in  her  linen  gown  and  straw  hat 
might  have  passed  for  a  shepherdess  of 
Arcady. 

A  clump  of  gnarled  and  twisted  rose  trees 
made  a  niche  for  her  small  white  figure  on 
the  garden  bench.  To  one  side  was  the  yew 
alley,  where  the  clipped  hedge  met  overhead, 
making  the  alley  dark  even  in  the  May  noon- 
time. Before  Trimousette  stood,  in  a  little 
open  space,  a  cracked  sundial,  on  which  could 
still  be  made  out  in  worn  letters  the  legend: 

V ombre  passe,  et  repasse : 
Sans  repasser,  I'homme  passe. 

4 


Trimousette 


This  sounded  very  sad  to  little  sixteen- 
year-old  Trimousette ;  shadows  passed  and  re- 
passed  ;  but  men,  passing  once,  passed  forever. 
She  sighed,  and  then  her  young  heart  turned 
away  to  sweeter,  brighter  things  as  she  again 
took  up  her  tambour  frame.  She  knew  the 
motto  on  the  sundial  well,  did  little  Trimou- 
sette, but  it  always  made  her  sad,  from  the 
time  she  first  spelled  it  out  in  her  childish  days. 
However,  her  heart  refused  to  give  it  more 
than  one  little  sigh  to-day,  as  she  turned  again 
to  her  embroidery  and  to  her  love  dream.  If 
only  she  was  to  be  married  to  the  Duke  of  Bel- 
garde — that  splendid,  daredevil  duke,  whom 
she  had  once  seen  face  to  face,  and  to  whom 
she  had  yielded  her  innocent  heart  and  all  her 
glowing  imagination!  Her  grandmother,  the 
old  countess,  who  was  frightfully  pious,  prob- 
ably would  not  let  little  Trimousette  marry 
the  duke,  not  even  if  he  asked  her ;  the  Duke 
of  Belgarde  could  not,  by  any  stretch  of  the 
imagination,  be  called  a  pious  person.  But 
5 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

Trimousette  believed  firmly  that  all  the  wild 
duke  needed  to  make  him  a  model  of  propriety 
was  a  little  tender  remonstrance  and  perhaps 
a  kiss  or  two —  Here  Trimousette  held  her 
embroidery  frame  up  to  her  eyes  to  hide  the 
hot  blushes  that  leaped  into  her  pale  cheeks. 

Presently  came  striding  along  the  garden 
path  the  fierce  old  Countess  of  Floramour,  as 
tall  as  a  bean  pole,  and  with  a  voice  like  an 
auctioneer. 

"  It  is  all  arranged,"  she  said  to  little  Tri- 
mousette, "  and  you  are  to  be  married  to  the 
Duke  of  Belgarde." 

The  blood  dropped  out  of  Trimousette's 
face,  like  water  dashed  from  a  vase.  She  had 
risen  when  she  saw  the  old  countess  approach- 
ing. Everybody  rose  when  the  old  countess 
approached,  for  she  was  a  martinet  to  the 
backbone.  The  volume  of  Ronsard  fell  out 
of  Trimousette's  lap,  and  Madame  de  Flora- 
mour pounced  upon  it. 

"  Reading  poetry,  indeed !  "  she  cried  indig- 
6 


Trimousette 


nantly ;  "  precious  little  use  will  you  find  for 
poetry  when  you  are  a  duchess.  You  will  be 
visiting  morning,  noon,  and  night,  until  you 
can  hardly  stand  upon  your  legs,  and  receiving 
visits  until  your  head  swims,  or  going  to  balls 
and  routs  when  you  should  be  in  bed,  and 
trailing  after  their  Majesties  until  you  are 
ready  to  drop,  and  racking  your  brain  for 
compliments  to  frowsy  old  women  and  dodder- 
ing old  men,  and  doing  everything  you  don't 
want  to  do — that's  being  a  duchess.  Still, 
it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  duchess." 

Dark-eyed  Trimousette  scarcely  heard  any- 
thing of  this ;  her  ear  had  caught  only  the 
words — "  the  Duke  of  Belgarde  " — and  she 
was  dazzled  and  stunned  with  the  splendid 
vision  that  rose  before  her  like  magic  at  the 
speaking  of  the  winged  words.  Nevertheless, 
she  managed  to  gasp  out: 

"And  when  am  I  to  be  married,  grand- 
mamma ?  " 

"  When  you  see  my  coach  with  six  horses 
2  7 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgardc 

drive  into  the  courtyard,  miss — then  you  are 
to  be  married,  and  not  before." 

With  this  the  old  countess  stalked  off,  and 
Trimousette  fell  into  a  rapturous  dream,  her 
head  resting  upon  her  hand.  So  motionless 
was  she  that  a  pair  of  bluebirds,  still  in  their 
honeymoon,  cooed  and  chirped  almost  at  her 
feet.  The  world  held  but  one  object  for  Tri- 
mousette at  that  moment — the  Duke  of  Bel- 
garde.  She  knew  his  first  name — Fernand — 
and  her  lips  involuntarily  moved  as  if  speaking 
it.  A  heavenly  glow  seemed  to  envelop  the 
old  garden,  the  sundial  with  its  melancholy 
motto,  the  dark  yew  walk,  bathing  them  in  a 
golden  glory.  Before  her  dreamy  eyes  re- 
turned the  vision  of  the  day  she  had  seen  the 
Duke  of  Belgarde,  and  had  laid  her  innocent, 
trembling  heart  at  his  feet,  just  as  a  subject 
bows  before  his  king,  without  waiting  to  be 
told.  It  was  exactly  a  year  ago,  on  a  May 
day,  and  it  was  close  by  the  Tuileries  gar- 
dens. Madame  de  Floramour's  great  coach 
8 


Trimousette 


was  drawn  up,  waiting  to  see  King  Louis  the 
Sixteenth  and  Queen  Marie  Antoinette  pass 
to  some  great  ceremony  at  Notre  Dame.  The 
duke  in  a  gorgeous  riding  dress,  and  superbly 
horsed,  was  among  the  courtiers,  and  on  see- 
ing a  certain  beautiful  lady,  Madame  de 
Valen9ay,  he  dismounted,  and  stood  uncovered 
talking  with  her,  the  sun  gleaming  upon  his 
powdered  hair,  and  making  his  sword  hilt 
shine  as  a  single  jewel.  How  well  Trimousette 
remembered  Madame  de  Valengay's  glorious 
blonde  beauty !  She  seemed,  in  her  pale  violet 
satin  robe  that  matched  the  color  of  her  eyes, 
a  part  of  the  splendid  pageant  of  earth  and  sky 
that  day.  At  the  first  sight  of  her  a  sudden, 
sharp,  jealous  pain  rent  Trimousette's  little 
heart.  Instantly  she  realized  that  she  was  small 
and  pale,  and  her  gown  was  dull  in  color.  The 
duke  scarcely  saw  her,  as  he  left  Madame  de 
Valengay's  side  long  enough  to  speak  to  the 
old  countess.  Trimousette,  making  herself  as 
small  as  possible  in  the  corner  of  the  coach, 
9 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

was,  as  usual,  completely  swamped  by  Ma- 
dame de  Floramour's  enormous  hoop,  tremen- 
dous hat  and  feathers,  and  voluminous  fan. 
The  old  lady,  who  had  a  fierce  virtue  which 
she  would  not  have  hesitated  to  cram  down 
the  throat  of  the  King  himself,  was  lecturing 
the  duke  upon  the  sin  of  gaming,  to  which  he 
was  addicted,  along  with  several  other  mor- 
tal sins.  He  listened  with  laughing,  impeni- 
tent eyes,  and  grinning  delightfully,  swore  he 
would  make  public  confession  of  his  sins  and 
lead  a  life  thereafter  as  innocent  as  that  of 
the  daisies  of  the  field.  Behind  him,  while 
he  was  talking,  shone  the  lovely,  fair  face 
of  Madame  de  Valengay,  all  dimpling  with 
smiles. 

Not  the  least  notice  did  the  duke  take  of 
little  Trimousette  until,  the  old  countess  pre- 
paring to  alight  and  walk  about  while  wait- 
ing for  their  Majesties,  Trimousette  stepped 
timidly  out  of  the  coach  after  her.  One  va- 
grant glance  of  the  duke's  fell  upon  Trimou- 
10 


Trimousette 


sette's  little,  little  feet,  encased  in  beautiful 
red-heeled  shoes,  and,  as  he  turned  away  with 
a  low  bow  and  a  sweep  of  his  hat,  Trimou- 
sette's  quick  ear  heard  him  say  to  a  com- 
panion standing  by :  "  What  charming  little 
feet !  " 

From  that  day  Trimousette's  innocent  head 
had  been  full  of  this  adorable,  impudent 
scapegrace  of  a  duke.  She  did  not,  like  older 
and  wiser  women,  try  to  put  him  out  of  her 
mind,  but  cherished  her  idyl,  as  young  things 
will;  only,  he  seemed  too  far  above  her  and 
beyond  her.  And  the  beautiful  Madame  de 
Valengay  was  certainly  better  suited  to  so 
splendid  a  being  as  the  Duke  of  Belgarde 
than  a  small  creature  like  herself,  so  Trimou- 
sette thought.  But  she  had  not  read  the  story 
of  Cinderella  for  nothing — and  small  feet  had 
carried  the  day  in  that  case  over  beauty  in 
all  its  pride. 

The  duke  divided  the  empire  of  Trimou- 
sette's soul  with  her  brother,  Count  Victor 
II 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

of  Floramour,  who  was  an  edition  in  small  of 
the  Duke  of  Belgarde,  whom  he  ardently  ad- 
mired and  earnestly  copied,  especially  in  his 
debts.  Count  Victor  had  succeeded  in  piling 
up  quite  a  respectable  number  of  obligations, 
but  unlike  the  Duke  of  Belgarde,  who  feared 
nobody,  Victor  was  in  mortal  terror  of  his 
grandmother,  the  old  countess.  She  held  the 
reins  tight  over  her  grandson  as  over  every- 
body else,  and  gave  him  about  enough  of  an 
allowance  to  keep  him  in  silk  stockings. 
Being  an  officer  of  the  Queen's  Musketeers, 
Victor  had  a  great  many  opportunities  to 
spend  money,  which  he  alleged  was  a  sol- 
emn duty  he  owed  her  Majesty,  the  Queen. 
This  was  devoutly  believed  by  Trimousette, 
but  the  old  countess  scoffed  at  it.  Trimou- 
sette had  determined,  if  she  made  a  rich  mar- 
riage, she  would  ask  her  husband  to  pay 
Victor's  debts,  even  if  they  were  so  much  as 
a  thousand  louis  d'ors — and  now — ah,  sweet 
delight ! — she  was  to  be  married  to  the  finest, 
12 


Trimousette 


the  most  beautiful  Juke  in  the  world,  who 
no  doubt. was  as  rich  as  he  was  grand.  The 
thought  of  Madame  de  Valenqay  disturbed 
Trimousette  a  little,  but  she  believed  if  she 
was  very  sweet  and  loving  with  the  duke,  and 
sang  him  pretty  little  songs,  and  always  wore 
enchanting  red-heeled  shoes,  he  would  soon 
forget  Madame  de  Valengay. 

The  duke  had  more  than  one  splendid  cha- 
teau, but  Trimousette  had  heard  of  the  small 
old  castle  of  Boury,  on  the  coast  of  Brittany, 
where  the  duke  was  born.  Thither  Trimou- 
sette decided  they  would  go  directly  they 
were  married ;  for,  of  course,  the  duke — or 
Fernand,  as  Trimousette  already  called  him 
in  her  thoughts — would  ask  her  where  she 
wished  to  go.  In  her  day  dream  she  saw  the 
place — an  old  stone  fortalice,  perched  on  the 
brown  Breton  rocks,  with  a  garden  of  hardy 
shrubs  and  flowers,  straying  almost  to  the 
cliff,  and  seagulls  clanging  overhead  in  the 
sharp  blue  air.  There  would  Trimousette  and 
13 


'The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

her  duke  live  like  their  Majesties  at  the  Lit- 
tle Trianon,  where  the  Count  d'Artois  milked 
the  cow,  and  Queen  Marie  Antoinette  herself 
skimmed  the  cream  from  the  milk  pails.  The 
Queen,  too,  always  wore  a  linen  gown  and  a 
straw  hat  when  she  was  at  the  Little  Trianon, 
and  Trimousette  would  dress  in  the  same  way 
at  Boury. 

While  all  these  idle,  sweet  fancies  floated 
through  her  mind,  like  white  butterflies  dan- 
cing in  the  sun,  she  glanced  up  and  saw  Vic- 
tor coming  toward  her.  Victor  did  not 
march  across  the  flower  beds  like  the  old 
countess,  but  slinked  along  through  the  yew 
alley,  in  the  dull  green  light  that  brooded 
upon  it  even  at  noontide.  He  was  like  Tri- 
mousette, only  ten  times  handsomer,  and  gave 
indications  of  having  seen  a  good  deal  of  life. 
To-day,  it  was  plain  he  had  been  up  all  night. 
He  was  unshaven,  his  hat  had  lost  its  jaunty 
cock,  his  waistcoat  was  wine-stained,  and  the 
lace  on  his  sleeves  had  been  badly  damaged  in 
14 


Trimousette 


a  romp  with  some  very  gay  ladies  about  four 
o'clock  that  morning. 

Victor  beckoned  to  Trimousette,  and  she 
rose  and  went  into  the  cool,  dark  alley  with 
him  where  they  were  quite  secure  from  obser- 
vation. Then,  taking  Trimousette's  hand,  he 
kissed  it  gallantly. 

"  So  you  want  to  be  a  duchess,  my  little 
sister,"  he  said,  laughing,  yet  kindly.  "  I 
hope  you  will  be  happy,  but  don't  get  any 
nonsense  in  your  romantic  head  about  you 
and  Belgarde  living  like  a  pair  of  blue  pigeons 
in  an  almond  tree.  Belgarde  is  a  gay  dog 
if  ever  I  saw  one.  We  were  together  last 
night — and  look !  "  Victor  showed  his  tat- 
tered ruffles  and  battered  hat,  and  touched  his 
unshaven  chin.  "  We  went  to  a  little  supper 
together,  which  began  at  midnight,  and  is 
just  over  now  within  the  hour." 

Trimousette  firmly  believed  that  she  would 
be  able  to  cure  her  duke  of  his  taste  for  such 
suppers,  but  she  was  too  timid  to  put  her  be- 
15 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

lief  in  words.  She  said,  however,  after  a 
blushing  pause: 

"  One  thing  I  mean  to  ask  the  duke  as  soon 
as  we  are  married,  and  that  is  for  some 
money  to  pay  your  debts,  dear  Victor." 

At  that  Victor  sat  down  on  the  ground  and 
laughed  until  he  cried. 

"  You  are  as  innocent  as  the  birds  upon  the 
bushes,  my  little  duchess,"  he  said.  "  Belgarcle 
pay  my  debts !  He  cannot  pay  his  own." 

"  But  yours  cannot  be  so  very  large,"  urged 
Trimousette  earnestly.  "If  it  were  even  as 
much  as  a  thousand  louis  d'ors,  I  should  ask 
the  duke  to  give  it  to  me,  and  if  he  loved 
me — " 

She  paused  with  downcast  eyes,  and  Victor 
stopped  laughing  and  looked  at  her  with  pity. 
What  an  innocent,  affectionate,  guileless  child 
she  was,  and  what  a  lesson  lay  before  her! 

"  My  debts  amount  to  a  good  deal  more 
than  a  thousand  louis  d'ors,"  he  responded, 
smiling  in  spite  of  himself  at  Trimousette's 
16 


Trimousette 


simplicity.  "  You  will  have  a  good  many 
thousands  of  louis  d'ors  at  your  command, 
my  little  duchess,  but  you  will  need  them 
all  yourself;  for  Belgarde  will  have  his  wife 
finely  dressed,  and  your  hotel  and  equipages 
must  be  suitable  to  your  rank." 

"  I  shall  always  be  able  to  spare  a  little 
for  you,  Victor,"  answered  Trimousette,  look- 
ing at  him  with  adoring  eyes. 

"  Belgarde  will  not  mind  the  money ;  he  is 
a  free-handed,  generous  fellow,  as  brave  as 
my  sword.  But  you  must  not  try  to  domes- 
ticate him,  you  must  become  gay  like  himself. 
Belgarde  told  me  on  our  way  home  just  now 
that  everything  had  been  arranged,  and  that 
he  meant  to  treat  you  well.  I  answered,  if 
he  did  not,  I  would  run  him  through  the 
body ;  and  so  I  will." 

At  which  Trimousette  was  frightened  half 
to  death,  and  replied: 

"  Then  if  he  treats  me  ill,  I  will  never  let 
you  know  anything  about  it." 
17 


CHAPTER    II 


THE   DUCHESS    OF    BELGARDE 

|  EVER  was  a  bride  less  burdened 
with  the  details  of  her  mar- 
riage than  was  Mademoiselle 
Trimousette.  Her  grandmother 
arranged  the  settlements,  pro- 
vided the  trousseau,  and  did  not  even  let 
Trimousette  see  the  marriage  presents,  which 
the  duke  sent  in  a  couple  of  large  hampers, 
until  the  day  before  the  wedding. 

The  duke  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  see 
his  little  bride  in  advance  of  the  formal  be- 
trothal, which  took  place  the  week  after  Tri- 
18 


The  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

mousette  had  sat  and  stitched  by  the  old 
sundial  in  the  garden.  The  betrothal  cere- 
mony took  place  in  the  grandest  of  all  of  the 
grand  saloons  in  the  hotel  of  Madame  de 
Floramour.  Everything  was  done  in  splen- 
dor, and  the  bride  herself,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  was  expensively  dressed  and  wore 
jewels.  When  she  entered  the  grand  saloon 
on  Victor's  arm,  her  eyes  were  downcast,  and 
she  felt  as  if  she  were  under  some  enchanting 
spell.  She  saw  nothing  but  her  adorable  duke, 
with  his  laughing  eyes,  and  dashing  figure, 
and  slim,  sinewy  hands  over  which  fell  lace 
ruffles. 

The  duke  glanced  at  his  bride  with  good- 
humored  indifference.  She  was  too  young, 
too  unformed  to  reveal  what  she  might  yet 
become,  but  she  looked  so  gentle,  so  unresist- 
ing, that  she  appeared  to  be  a  very  suitable 
duchess  for  a  duke  who  took  his  pleasure 
wherever  he  found  it.  The  only  thing  he 
noticed  especially  about  her  were  her  dainty 
19 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgardc 

feet,  in  little  white  satin  shoes,  and  her  black 
eyes,  hidden  under  her  downcast  lids.  He 
recognized  the  melancholy  glory  of  her  eyes, 
but  thought  them  too  tragic  for  everyday 
use.  Personally,  he  much  preferred  Madame 
de  Valengay's  blue  orbs,  languid,  yet  spark- 
ling. That  charming  lady  was  present,  and 
appeared  in  nowise  chagrined.  Shortly  before 
the  betrothal,  she  had  suggested  to  the  duke 
that  she  should  put  the  Count  de  Valengay 
out  of  the  way,  in  order  to  make  a  vacancy  in 
his  shoes  for  the  duke;  de  Valenc,ay  was  al- 
ways ailing,  and  could  easily  be  made  a  little 
more  so.  The  duke  declined  the  proposition, 
as  every  other  man  has  done  to  whom  it 
has  been  made  since  the  dawn  of  time.  But 
he  had  assured  Madame  de  Valen^ay  that 
neither  a  husband  nor  a  wife  counted  in  an 
all-consuming  passion  such  as  theirs,  and  she 
believed  him.  The  future  duchess  pleased 
Madame  de  Valengay  quite  as  much  as  Tri- 
mousette  pleased  the  duke.  Surely,  that  small, 
20 


The  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

timid,  almost  voiceless  creature  ought  not  and 
should  not  stand  in  the  way  of  two  deter- 
mined lovers  like  the  Duke  of  Belgarde  and 
Madame  de  Valengay. 

Few  persons  present  took  any  more  notice 
of  the  young  bride  than  did  the  prospective 
bridegroom.  The  betrothal  ceremony  was 
soon  over  and  then  a  great  dinner  was  served, 
at  which  the  future  Duchess  of  Belgarde  sat 
next  the  duke  at  table.  Amid  the  crowd  of 
merry  faces,  the  cheerful  noise  and  commo- 
tion of  a  betrothal  dinner,  the  lights  and  the 
flowers,  Trimousette  saw  only  the  duke's 
handsome,  laughing,  careless  face,  and  heard 
only  his  ringing  voice.  She  was  so  quiet  and 
still  during  it  all  that  it  touched  the  duke  a 
little,  although  he  had  frankly  determined  in 
advance  he  would  not  trouble  himself  very 
much  about  his  future  duchess.  He  was  im- 
pelled, however,  by  a  certain  careless  kind- 
ness, which  was  a  part  of  his  nature,  to  pay 
her  a  few  small  compliments.  The  blood 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgardc 

rushed  to  Trimousette's  face  and  she  raised 
her  black  eyes  to  his  with  an  expression 
of  adoration  at  once  desperate  and  shy,  so 
that  the  duke  privately  resolved  not  to  en- 
courage her  to  fall  in  love  with  him  any  more 
than  she  was  already.  Nothing  was  more 
inconvenient,  thought  the  duke,  than  a  wife 
who  is  in  love  with  her  husband,  except 
perhaps  a  husband  who  is  in  love  with  his 
wife. 

The  next  night  the  wedding  was  celebrated. 
First  there  was  a  great  supper  and  ball  pre- 
ceding the  ceremony,  which  took  place  at 
midnight,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  age, 
at  Notre  Dame.  It  was  a  very  grand  wed- 
ding indeed.  The  King  and  Queen  were  rep- 
resented, and  half  the  old  nobility  of  France 
was  present.  In  fact,  there  was  so  much  of 
rank  and  grandeur  that  the  bride  was  as 
nearly  insignificant  as  a  bride  could  well  be. 
Her  costume  was  very  gorgeous;  she  blazed 
with  jewels,  which  came  from  she  knew  not 


The  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

where,  and  she  was  attended  by  six  young 
ladies  of  the  highest  rank,  whom  she  had 
never  before  seen.  When  Trimousette  en- 
tered the  first  of  the  magnificent  saloons,  her 
eyes  timidly  traveled  over  the  splendors  be- 
fore her.  Some  of  the  great  rooms  were 
devoted  to  cards,  others  to  dancing,  where 
an  orchestra  of  twenty-four  violins  played, 
after  the  manner  of  the  orchestra  of  Louis 
the  Fourteenth,  at  whose  court  Madame  de 
Floramour  had  been  a  shining  light.  In  an- 
other huge  hall  a  superb  supper  was  served 
by  a  hundred  liveried  lackeys,  wearing  wed- 
ding favors. 

But  the  only  familiar  faces  the  little  bride 
saw  were  her  brother  Victor's  and  her  grand- 
mother's iron  countenance,  grimly  resplendent 
under  a  towering  headdress  of  diamonds  and 
red  feathers.  Yes,  there  was  another  face 
she  knew  well,  though  she  had  seen  it  but 
twice — the  lovely  rosy-lipped  Madame  de 
Valenqay.  Trimousette,  for  all  her  outward 
3  23 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

timidity,  had  a  shy  and  silent  courage,  which 
appeared  when  least  expected.  She  did  not 
really  fear  Madame  de  Valenqay,  with  all  her 
wit  and  beauty,  for  love  is  the  universal  con- 
queror. So  thought  simple  Trimousette.  The 
duke  was  quite  civil  to  his  bride,  and  she 
mistook  his  civility  for  the  beginnings  of 
love,  and  thought  him  more  adorable  than 
ever. 

Half  an  hour  before  midnight  a  great 
string  of  coaches,  with  running  footmen  car- 
rying torches,  started  for  the  Cathedral  of 
Notre  Dame,  where  the  Archbishop  of  Paris, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  whole  batch  of  car- 
dinals, was  to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony. 
The  night,  radiant  and  rose-scented,  was  the 
loveliest  of  June  nights.  The  crowds  along 
the  streets  hustled  and  pushed  and  scrambled 
good~naturedly  to  get  a  sight  of  the  young 
bride.  All  agreed  that  she  was  not  half  hand- 
some enough  for  the  beautiful,  superb  Duke 
of  Belgarde,  and  such,  indeed,  was  the  bride's 
24 


The  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

own  opinion.  The  duke  was  in  the  gayest 
spirits.  The  more  he  saw  of  his  bride,  the 
better  she  seemed  suited  to  him.  She  was 
certainly  the  meekest,  most  inoffensive  crea- 
ture on  earth,  and  if  only  she  would  not  in- 
sist on  making  love  to  him,  it  would  be  an 
ideal  marriage — for  the  Duke  of  Belgarde. 
He  congratulated  himself  that  he  had  not 
yielded  to  the  seductions  of  Madame  de  Va- 
lenc^ay  when  that  spirited  and  fascinating  lady 
had  offered  to  put  her  husband  out  of  the 
way  to  please  the  duke. 

The  wedding  train,  as  it  swept  up  the  great 
aisle  of  Notre  Dame,  blazed  with  splendor. 
In  it  was  the  Count  d'Artois,  who  not  only 
milked  the  cow  charmingly  at  the  Little  Tri- 
anon, but  danced  adorably  on  the  tight  rope. 
The  main  altar  of  the  old  Cathedral,  with 
its  thousands  of  candles,  sparkled  like  a  sin- 
gle jewel.  The  huge  organ  thundered  under 
the  echoing  arches,  and  the  great  bells  in  the 
towers  clashed  out  joyfully  their  wedding 
25 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

music  to  the  quiet  stars  in  the  heavens.  The 
melody,  the  beauty,  the  glory  of  it  all  found 
an  echo  in  the  tender,  simple  heart  of  the  new 
Duchess  of  Belgarde. 


PART   TWO 


CHAPTER    III 

A    PRESENT    FROM    THE   DUKE 

INSTEAD  of  a  honeymoon  at 
Boury,  the  old  Breton  castle 
on  the  cliffs  over  the  sound- 
ing seas,  where  the  salt  spray 
dashed  upon  the  crumbling 
towers,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Belgarde 
had  a  racketing  time  at  the  Chateau  de  Bel- 
garde.  This  was  a  great  palace  of  a  place  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Versailles.  There  was 
incessant  dancing,  dining,  and  merry-making 
for  three  whole  weeks,  and  the  meek,  silent 
little  bride  grew  so  tired  she  could  scarcely 
29 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

stand  upon  her  pretty  feet.  Madame  de  Va- 
lenc,ay  was  much  in  evidence,  and  was  easily 
the  loveliest  of  all  the  lovely  women  at  the 
Chateau  de  Belgarde.  A  vague  uneasiness 
came  into  the  heart  of  the  little  duchess  when- 
ever she  looked  upon  this  beautiful  blue-eyed 
creature  always  radiantly  dressed.  Trimou- 
sette,  however,  still  believed  that  she  could 
soon  make  her  duke  fall  as  deeply  in  love 
with  herself  as  she  was  irretrievably  in  love 
with  him.  He  was  certainly  kind  to  her,  so 
thought  Trimousette  with  deep  delight  in  her 
innocent  heart.  She  did  not  observe  that 
the  duke's  kindness  to  her  was  exactly  like 
his  kindness  to  his  faithful  hound,  Diane,  who 
had  broken  both  her  forelegs  in  his  serv- 
ice, and  though  unable  to  hunt,  limped  about 
after  him  with  the  desperate  devotion  of  that 
most  sentimental  of  all  creatures  except  a 
woman — a  dog.  The  duke  did,  indeed,  show 
a  sort  of  protective  instinct  toward  his  silent, 
shy,  black-eyed  young  wife,  and  she  noticed 
30 


A  Present  from  the  Duke 

that  Madame  de  Valengay  was  more  civil  to 
her  when  the  duke  was  by  than  when  he 
was  not.  But  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
Duchess  of  Belgarde  was  shamefully  bullied 
in  her  own  house  from  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage by  Madame  de  Valengay.  Trimousette 
bore  it  with  the  quiet,  wordless  courage  which 
enabled  her  to  bear  many  things  in  silence, 
and  she  continued  to  mistake  her  husband's 
casual  good  will  for  the  beginnings  of  love 
in  its  infancy.  One  day,  less  than  a  month 
after  her  marriage,  came  the  awakening.  The 
duchess  saw  a  jeweler  from  Paris  at  the  door 
of  the  duke's  room.  The  duke  was  holding 
in  his  hand  a  blue,  heart-shaped  locket  with 
diamonds  in  it. 

"  I  will  take  this,"  he  said,  "  for  one  hun- 
dred louis." 

He  did  not  see  his  duchess  who  was  pass- 
ing a  little  to  the  back  of  him.  A  palpitating 
joy  shot  through  Trimousette's  heart.  What 
were  all  the  jewels  and  laces  and  furs  and 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

silks  in  her  marriage  presents  from  the  duke 
compared  to  that  charming  little  jeweled 
heart,  which  he  was  choosing  for  her!  The 
duke  thrust  the  trinket  in  his  breast,  dismissed 
the  man,  and  then  turning,  for  the  first  time 
saw  his  duchess  walking  along  the  broad, 
bright  corridor,  flooded  with  the  glow  of  the 
summer  morning.  As  he  was  going  the  same 
way,  he  walked  after  Trimousette,  and  like 
a  gentleman  he  uttered  some  little  phrase  of 
compliment.  In  all  honesty,  he  preferred 
her  as  his  wife  a  million  times  more  than 
Madame  de  Valengay,  whom  he  could  have 
married,  if  only  he  had  agreed  to  have  the 
present  incumbent  put  out  of  the  way.  A 
submissive  person  was  what  the  duke  par- 
ticularly desired  for  a  wife,  and  he  had  got 
one. 

The  little  duchess's  heart  beat  so  with  joy 

when  her  husband  joined  her  that  she  was 

almost  suffocated,  and  could  only  say  "  Yes  " 

and  "  No  "  when  the  duke  talked  to  her.    He 

32 


A  Present  from  the  Duke 

was  obliged  to  admit,  however,  after  a  few 
minutes  of  this,  as  they  passed  through  the 
long,  sunlit  corridor  out  upon  the  gay  ter- 
race, that  his  bride  had  not  much  conversa- 
tional power.  And  standing  on  the  terrace, 
surrounded  by  gentlemen,  was  Madame  de 
Valenqay,  entertaining  them  all  with  the  most 
amusing  badinage,  and  every  word  sparkled. 
She  seemed  to  embody  the  very  spirit  of  the 
rosy  morn  with  her  shining  eyes,  her  ringing 
voice,  her  gown  of  a  jocund  yellow. 

Nevertheless,  for  Trimousette  this  trifling 
attention  of  the  duke  toward  her  filled  her 
soul  with  rapture.  There  was  a  great  ball 
that  night  at  the  chateau,  and  she  dressed  her- 
self for  it  with  gayety  of  heart  in  a  very  un- 
becoming gown  selected  for  her  by  her  fierce 
old  grandmother.  Her  innocent,  hidden  hope 
and  pleasure  lasted  until  she  entered  the  ball- 
room to  receive  her  guests.  There,  amid  the 
jewels  sparkling  upon  Madame  de  Valengay's 
breast,  lay  the  little  blue  enameled  heart. 
33 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

Something  as  near  resentment  as  Trimou- 
sette  could  feel  stirred  within  her,  and  her 
dark  eyes  grew  sombre.  She  had  a  sudden 
illumination.  Never  more  would  she  mistake 
the  duke's  careless  kindness  for  the  begin- 
nings of  love.  But  with  the  illumination  of 
her  mind  rose  up  that  latent,  still,  wordless 
courage  which  enabled  her  to  bear  almost 
unbearable  things  without  one  sign  of  pain. 
She  was  but  a  girl  of  seventeen,  this  in- 
jured wife,  this  insulted  duchess ;  she  knew 
nothing  of  retaliation,  she  only  knew  how  to 
suffer  silently  and  with  dignity.  No  one,  not 
even  her  brother  Victor,  should  know  of  the 
cruel  affront  put  upon  her  in  the  first  month 
of  her  marriage.  She  forced  herself  to  talk 
and  even  to  smile,  and  Victor,  who  was  afraid 
that  Trimousette  would  never  look  or  speak 
or  walk  or  act  as  a*  great  duchess  should, 
began  to  have  some  hopes  of  her. 


CHAPTER   IV 

MADAME    DE    VALENQAY 

I  HE  gayety  and  racketing  went 
on  during  the  whole  year  at 
one  place  or  another — the  Cha- 
teau de  Belgarde,  other  cha- 
teaus,  Paris  and  Versailles. 
Trimousette  saw  Madame  de  Valengay  oft- 
ener  than  any  other  woman  of  her  acquaint- 
ance. Madame  de  Valengay  was  fairly  po- 
lite, but  in  her  eyes  and  smile  lurked  a  kind 
of  insolence  which  the  reticent  young  duch- 
ess understood  quite  well,  but  of  which  she 
made  not  the  slightest  sign.  She  had  no 
35 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

more  liberty  and  not  much  more  money  as 
Duchess  of  Belgarde  than  when  she  lived 
in  her  grandmother's  house  as  a  little  demoi- 
selle. There  was  much  to  buy  and  to  give, 
and  besides,  ever  since  King  Louis  the  Six- 
teenth called  the  States  General  together,  the 
peasants  had  refused  to  pay  their  rents  and 
even  their  taxes,  and  the  work  people  de- 
manded their  money  with  threats  and  curses. 
So  far  from  having  a  thousand  louis  d'ors 
with  which  to  pay  Victor's  debts,  the  poor 
little  duchess  had  only  managed,  by  skimping 
and  saving  in  her  own  personal  expenses,  to 
scrape  together  three  hundred  louis — and  it 
was  so  little  she  was  ashamed  to  offer  it  to 
Victor. 

A  year  after  her  marriage  Trimousette  dis- 
appointed and  offended  the  duke  very  much 
by  bringing  into  the  world  a  daughter.  A  son 
would  have  been  welcomed ;  but  a  girl — well, 
the  poor  little  thing,  as  if  knowing  she  was 
not  wanted  by  anyone  except  her  young 
36 


Madame  de  Valenqay 


mother,  soon  wailed  her  life  away.  Trimou- 
sette  grieved  as  one  whose  heart  was  broken, 
and  wore  nothing  but  black.  This  still  more 
annoyed  the  duke,  but  on  this  point  alone 
Trimousette  showed  a  slight  obstinacy.  The 
duke  wished  her  to  go  about,  to  visit  Ver- 
sailles, to  be  seen  at  the  theatre.  The  young 
duchess  humbly  obeyed  these  instructions,  but 
not  in  the  spirit  the  duke  desired.  Trimou- 
sette's  heart,  poor  lonely  captive,  beat  against 
its  prison  bars,  and  made  its  melancholy  cry 
a  little  heard;  then  grew  silent. 

She  led  a  life  singularly  lonely  for  a  great 
lady  who  received  twice  in  the  week,  and  who 
went  to  a  ball  nearly  every  night.  Her  grand- 
mother thought  she  had  done  enough  in  mar- 
rying Trimousette  off  to  one  of  the  great- 
est dukes  in  France,  and  gave  herself  up  to 
sermons,  taking  no  more  thought  of  her 
granddaughter.  Victor  had  his  own  amuse- 
ments, as  became  an  officer  of  the  Queen's 
Musketeers  and  a  gay  dog.  Only  the  poor, 
37 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

broken-legged  hound  Diane  seemed  to  seek 
Trimousette's  company,  and  together  the  two 
creatures  who  loved  the  duke  listened  for  his 
footsteps,  and  hung  timidly  upon  his  words. 

But  there  was  so  great  a  noise  of  other 
things  in  Paris  that  private  woes  were  not 
much  heeded.  It  was  impossible  for  a  lady 
to  walk  without  molestation  upon  the  streets 
full  of  turbulent  people,  and  it  was  actually 
dangerous  to  drive  about  in  a  ducal  coach. 
The  pavements  were  thronged  by  hungry  crea- 
tures, both  men  and  women,  with  menacing 
eyes,  and  threatening,  yelling  voices,  who  had 
been  known  to  scream  and  flout  ladies  in  their 
carriages,  and  to  drag  gentlemen  from  their 
horses  and  maltreat  them.  Once  Madame 
de  Valenqay,  seeing  Trimousette  preparing 
to  go  forth  somewhat  unwillingly  in  her 
coach,  hinted  that  perhaps  the  duchess  was 
afraid. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  madame,"  answered  Tri- 
mousette quietly.  "  Perhaps  you  will  join  me 
38 


Madame  de  Valen$a\ 


in  my  coach  and  drive  with  me  to  the  Palais 
Royal." 

Madame  de  Valenc,ay  was  so  stunned  by 
this  proposal  that  she  accepted  it,  the  duke 
standing  by  and  wondering  if  his  taciturn 
young  duchess  had  not  lost  her  wits. 

The  two  ladies  were  assisted  into  the  coach, 
which  set  off  toward  the  Palais  Royal.  It 
was  about  seven  in  the  evening  when  the 
work  of  the  day  was  over  and  the  streets  were 
fullest  of  these  ragged,  starving  beings  who 
had  found  voice  at  last,  and  shouted  out  the 
story  of  their  rags,  their  hunger,  their  misery, 
and  their  determination  to  punish  somebody 
for  it.  The  splendid  coach  and  six  of  the 
Duchess  of  Belgarde  was  like  showing  a  red 
rag  to  a  bull.  The  mob  surrounded  it,  hoot- 
ing and  screaming,  and  wrenched  the  whips 
from  the  hands  of  the  coachmen  and  pos- 
tilions, and  the  canes  from  the  three  footmen 
hanging  on  behind.  Madame  de  Valengay, 
who  had  started  out  laughing  and  defiant, 
*  39 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

grew  pale  and  then  frightened,  and  when  a 
wretched  woman,  with  the  glare  of  famine  in 
her  eyes,  dragged  the  coach  door  open  and 
tore  the  ribbons  from  Madame  de  Valency's 
hat,  that  lady  fell  to  whimpering  and  almost 
fainting  with  terror.  Not  so  little  Trimou- 
sette.  It  had  been  complained  of  her  often 
that  she  was  too  silent  and  impassive,  and  she 
remained  so  now,  giving  no  sign  whatever  of 
fear  or  uneasiness.  She  even  smiled  with  a 
faint  contempt  at  Madame  de  Valengay's  ter- 
rors, and  refused  to  give  orders  for  the  coach- 
man to  return  to  the  Hotel  de  Belgarde  until 
they  had  made  the  circuit  of  the  Palais  Royal. 
When  they  returned,  the  duke  was  awaiting 
them  in  the  courtyard  of.  the  hotel.  He  was 
wondering  what  would  be  the  next  miracle. 
Madame  de  Valengay  had  been  so  terribly 
scared  that  she  could  not  disguise  it,  and 
clamored  to  have  not  only  the  duke,  but  all 
the  men  servants  in  the  hotel  to  escort  her 
home.  She  looked  a  wreck,  did  this  beautiful, 
40 


Madame  dc  Valcnqay 


gayly  gowned  lady,  with  her  hat  in  frag- 
ments, her  fan  broken,  her  clothes  almost  torn 
off  her  by  the  furious,  yelling,  laughing  crowd 
of  women  in  the  streets.  Not  so  Trimousette, 
in  her  sedate  black  gown,  better  suited  to 
eighty  than  eighteen. 

"  I  was  not  at  all  frightened,"  she  said  to 
the  duke,  and  if  she  had  not  been  so  shy,  she 
would  have  told  him  all  about  it.  The  coach- 
men and  footmen  did  this,  however,  and  slyly, 
after  the  manner  of  their  kind,  brought  the 
duchess's  calm  courage  into  contrast  with 
Madame  de  Valensay's  undignified  screams 
and  pleadings. 

The  duke,  who  was  insensible  to  fear  him- 
self, expected  courage  in  women,  and  was 
secretly  disgusted  with  Madame  de  Valengay. 
Besides,  like  most  ladies  of  her  sort,  she  was 
beginning  to  hound  the  duke  with  what  she 
called  her  love.  It  had  grown  more  insistent 
since  his  marriage  to  the  quiet  little  Trimou- 
sette, who  appeared  not  to  know  there  was 
41 


Tlie  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

such  a  thing  as  faithlessness  in  the  world.  The 
duke  chafed  a  little  under  Madame  de  Valen- 
qay's  shameless  pursuit  of  him.  Not  being  a 
courageous  woman  she  did  not  venture  into 
the  streets  when  the  people  became  turbulent ; 
but  they  were  not  always  turbulent,  the  poor, 
starving  people.  Although  herself  often  afraid 
to  go  out,  Madame  de  Valengay  did  not  mind 
sending  out  her  running  footmen,  and  the 
Duke  of  Belgarde  could  scarcely  leave  his 
own  door  without  a  lackey  in  Madame  de 
Valengay's  livery  poking  a  scented  pink  note 
at  him.  The  duke  ground  his  teeth,  and  dimly 
recognized  that  his  friend,  as  he  called  her, 
harassed  and  worried  him,  and  indeed  hen- 
pecked him  more  in  two  weeks  than  his  pale, 
quiet  little  duchess  had  done  in  the  whole  two 
years  of  their  married  life.  Nevertheless, 
Madame  de  Valen9ay's  glorious  and  vivid 
beauty  enchanted  him,  and  made  him  some- 
times forget  Trimousette's  very  existence. 
He  even  forgot  to  compliment  her  little  feet, 
42 


Madame  de  Valenqay 


which  Trimousette  still,  with  a  faint,  foolish 
hope  in  her  heart,  dressed  in  charming  little 
shoes,  the  only  patch  of  coquetry  or  vanity 
about  her. 

The  people,  meanwhile,  were  growing  more 
and  more  unruly,  and  at  last  one  day  a  mob 
of  dressmakers,  washerwomen,  cooks,  and  the 
like,  headed  by  a  tall,  red-faced  laundress,  al- 
most as  fierce  as  the  old  Countess  of  Flora- 
mour,  began  a  round  of  domiciliary  visits  to 
persons  who  owed  them  money.  They  went 
to  many  hotels,  including  that  of  Madame  de 
Valengay,  who  ordered  all  the  doors  to  be 
double  locked,  and  ran  up  to  her  bedroom, 
where  she  remained  cowering  and  terrified, 
but  unable  to  escape  the  menaces  and  shouts 
of  the  crowd  of  haggard,  savage  women  in 
the  courtyard,  demanding  their  money  to  keep 
their  children  from  starving.  They  got  noth- 
ing, however. 

Next,  they  visited  the  old  Countess  of 
Floramour,  who  came  down  boldly  enough  to 
43 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

them,  but  gave  them  a  sermon  instead  of 
money.  She  exhorted  them  to  live  by  Bible 
texts,  and  was  indignant  when  the  big  red- 
faced  laundress  replied  that  they  could  neither 
eat  nor  wear  the  Bible.  Thence  the  riotous 
women  invaded  the  courtyard  of  the  splendid 
Hotel  de  Belgarde.  They  had  grown  more 
noisy  and  the  dames  de  compagnie  of  the 
duchess  begged  her  not  to  go  down  to  them. 
But  Trimousette  was  of  all  things  least  a 
coward,  and  taking  from  her  escritoire  the 
little  bag  of  gold  she  had  saved  up  to  pay 
Victor's  debts,  descended  the  grand  staircase 
into  the  sunny  courtyard,  where  the  mob 
clamored  and  abused  the  powdered  and  silk- 
stockinged  footmen.  Something  in  the  aspect 
of  this  pale,  soft-eyed  little  duchess  in  her 
black  gown,  her  hair  tied  with  a  black  ribbon, 
moved  the  wild  hearts  of  these  savage  women, 
and  her  voice,  trembling  and  embarrassed, 
made  them  keep  quiet  in  order  to  hear  her. 
"  It  is  all  I  have,"  she  said,  blushing  and 
44 


Madame  de  Valenqay 


stammering  as  she  handed  the  bag  to  the  big 
red  laundress ;  "  it  is  only  a  little  more  than 
three  hundred  louis,  and  is  not  enough  to  pay 
you.  If  I  had  any  more,  I  would  be  glad  to 
give  it  to  you." 

The  crowd  of  women  looked  at  her  in  sur- 
prise; she  was  the  first  great  lady  they  had 
visited  so  far  who  had  given  them  a  franc. 
The  fierce  laundress  became  almost  civil  when 
she  took  the  bag  from  Trimousette's  hands. 

"  We  ask  for  our  money,  for  we  are  starv- 
ing. My  little  child  died  last  week  because 
I  have  not  for  a  year  past  had  money  enough 
to  give  her  good  food.  What  do  you  think 
of  that,  madame  ?  "  she  cried,  her  red  face  sud- 
denly growing  pale  and  fiercer. 

"  My  little  child  died  last  year,"  answered 
Trimousette,  looking  at  the  woman  before  her 
with  the  kinship  of  motherhood  ;  and  then  cov- 
ering her  face  with  her  hands,  she  burst  into 
weeping. 

The  mob  was  hungry  and  savage  and 
45 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

ragged  and  hated  duchesses  in  general,  but 
at  the  sight  of  the  tears  of  this  black-robed, 
pale  young  girl  they  remained  silent.  The 
washerwoman  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron, 
laid  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  weeping 
duchess,  and  said  roughly : 

"  It  is  like  this  with  all  of  us,  we  women, 
duchesses  and  washerwomen  alike.  Every 
one  of  us  has  a  little  pair  of  wooden  shoes,  or 
a  cap,  or  something  that  belonged  to  a  dead 
child.  But  ours  died  because  we  could  not  buy 
them  enough  to  eat." 

The  little  duchess  wept  again  at  this,  but 
presently  drying  her  eyes,  she  said: 

"  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  pay  you." 

Trimousette  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
mention  this  adventure  to  the  duke.  She  did 
not  see  jiim  every  day  even  when  he  was  in 
Paris,  and  besides,  when  she  tried  to  tell  him 
things,  she  always  grew  frightened  and  the 
words  died  upon  her  lips.  The  servants,  how- 
ever, told  the  duke  of  it  when  he  came  home 
46 


Madame  de  Valengay 


in  the  evening.  He  had  spent  most  of  the  in- 
tervening time  trying  to  quiet  Madame  de 
Valengay,  who  was  in  paroxysms  of  terror. 
The  duke  grew  every  day  more  bored  by  his 
friend,  and  concluded  to  spend  the  evening  at 
home,  in  order  to  escape  Madame  de  Valengay 
and  her  scoundrelly  running  footmen,  who 
watched  his  comings  and  goings  as  if  he  were 
a  criminal. 

For  the  third  or  fourth  time  since  his  mar- 
riage he  sought,  of  his  own  free  will,  his 
wife's  society.  She  spent  her  evenings  in  a 
little  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  Hotel 
de  Belgarde  which  opened  upon  the  garden. 
When  Trimousette  heard  the  duke's  knock, 
she  thought  it  was  Victor's  and  ran  to  open 
the  door.  The  sight  of  her  husband  discon- 
certed her  so  that  she  stopped  and  hesitated 
awkwardly,  quite  unlike  Madame  de  Va- 
lengay, who  could  not  be  awkward  if  she 
tried. 

Diane,  the  broken-legged  hound,  who  was 
47 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

Trimousette's  constant  companion,  licked  the 
duke's  hand,  and  gave  a  soft  whine  of  delight. 
Trimousette,  whose  heart  fluttered  whenever 
she  saw  her  husband,  was  undemonstrative 
and  inarticulate.  The  duke,  after  politely 
greeting  his  duchess,  and  patting  Diane's 
head,  walked  to  the  fireplace,  where  a  little 
blaze  crackled.  The  time  was  September,  and 
there  was  an  autumn  sharpness  in  the  air. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  were  alarmed  to-day  by 
that  mob  of  wretched  women,"  said  the  duke 
presently,  as  he  warmed  his  hands  at  the  fire, 
the  mantel  mirror  reflecting  his  handsome 
face  and  figure. 

"  No,"  replied  Trimousette  timidly,  "  I  was 
not  frightened." 

The  duke  stroked  his  chin  reflectively.  Si- 
lent women  like  his  duchess  were  sometimes 
preferable  to  those  who  shrieked  and  screamed 
at  the  least  provocation,  like  his  friend  Ma- 
dame de  Valengay. 

Having  said  so  much  Trimousette  picked 
48 


Madame  de  Valenqay 


up  her  embroidery  frame  and,  seating  herself, 
began  to  embroider.  The  duke,  looking  at 
her,  congratulated  himself  that  she  had  lost 
the  habit  of  blushing  and  starting  every  time 
he  spoke  to  her,  which,  for  a  while  after  his 
marriage,  made  him  apprehend  that  she  might 
fall  in  love  with  him  and  that  would  have  been 
excessively  annoying.  Meanwhile,  Trimou- 
sette's  heart  was  palpitating  faintly,  and  her 
black  eyes  were  cast  down  because  she  was 
too  embarrassed  to  look  up. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  duke,  "  it  would  be  as 
well  to  go  to  the  Chateau  de  Belgarde  a  little 
earlier  this  year." 

He  was  thinking  that  he  must  get  away  for 
a  time  from  Madame  de  Valengay's  cursed 
running  footmen  perpetually  chasing  him  with 
her  pink  notes.  Trimousette  felt  a  sudden 
access  of  courage,  which  nerved  her  to  say, 
almost  boldly: 

"  Would  it  not  be  pleasanter  to  go  to 
Boury  ?  " 

49 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

"  That  little  dungeon  in  Brittany !  "  cried 
the  duke,  laughing. 

"  But  it  is  so  quiet  and  peaceful  there,"  con- 
tinued Trimousette,  blushing  at  her  own  bold- 
ness. "  I  think  I — I — should  like  to  go  to 
Boury." 

It  was  the  first  time  since  their  marriage 
that  she  had  ever  proffered  a  request ;  and  the 
duke,  like  most  imperial  masters,  was  some- 
times capable  of  a  generous  action.  Besides, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  Madame  de  Valengay 
would  scarcely  follow  him  to  Boury. 

All  at  once,  while  the  duke  stood  hesitating, 
the  duchess's  shyness  vanished  for  one  brief 
moment,  and  she  became  positively  eloquent. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  she  said,  clasping 
her  hands  eagerly ;  "  it  is  by  the  sea,  and  there 
is  a  garden  running  to  the  cliffs,  with  plants 
so  hardy  that  even  the  fierce  sea  winds  cannot 
kill  them.  And  there  are  beautiful  woods  and 
fields,  and  you — I — we  could  read  in  the 
mornings,  and  in  the  afternoons  you  could  go 
50 


Madame  de  Valen^ay 


out  with  your  fowling  piece,  and  in  the  even- 
ings— "  She  stopped,  trembling  and  quite  un- 
able to  put  into  words  the  enchanting  dream 
that  rose  before  her.  The  quiet  evenings  tete- 
a-tete  with  the  duke,  he  reading  perhaps — he 
sometimes  read  the  works  of  Monsieur  Vol- 
taire and  Monsieur  Rousseau.  And  she  would 
sit  by  working  at  her  tambour  frame,  with 
Diane,  her  faithful  friend  and  sympathizer,  at 
her  feet.  The  vision  that  hovered  in  Trimou- 
sette's  mind  was  not  reflected  in  the  duke's. 
He  only  saw  that  his  quiet  little  duchess 
wished  very  much  to  go  to  Boury,  and  had 
made  the  longest  and  boldest  speech  he  had 
ever  heard  from  her  lips. 

"  Then,  madame/'  he  cried,  "  I  will  con- 
sider what  you  say.  At  all  events,  we  will 
leave  Paris,  and  possibly  we  may  dwell,  like 
a  pair  of  turtle  doves  in  a  cage,  for  the  space 
of  a  week  at  Boury." 

When  the  duke  went  out,  banging  the  door 
after  him,  Trimousette  actually  danced  about 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

the  room  in  her  joy  and  triumph.  She  would 
have  him  at  the  little  country  place  all  to  her- 
self, and  for  one  whole  week.  There  would 
be  no  brazen  intrusion  of  Madame  de  Valen- 
gay,  and  perhaps — perhaps  the  duke  might 
forget  her ;  and  then  would  come  true  that 
dream  of  the  honeymoon — for  Trimousette 
had  never  had  a  honeymoon. 


s&> 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   EARTHQUAKE 

[HIS  rosy  vision  of  Boury  with 
her  duke  lasted  Trimousette 
just  twenty-four  hours.  The 
duke,  on  reflection,  concluded 
that  Boury  was  too  far  away 
from  Paris,  where  all  was  tumult  and  uncer- 
tainty. It  was  not  too  far  away  from  Ma- 
dame de  Valenqay,  of  whom  the  duke  was 
now  almost  weary,  but  for  him  to  go  to  Brit- 
tany might  look  as  if  he  were  running  away 
from  their  Majesties,  who  were  in  very  great 
danger.  So,  the  next  evening,  the  duke  again 
53 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

came  into  Trimousette's  little  room  and  told 
her  it  was  not  Boury  to  which  they  would  go, 
but  Belgarde,  near  to  Versailles.  He  even 
condescended  to  give  his  reasons.  Trimou- 
sette  listened  with  a  mute,  unmoved  face. 
She  was  so  used  to  disappointments  that  she 
took  them  without  protest.  Of  course,  she 
thought  the  real  reason  was  Madame  de  Va- 
lenqay,  and  when  the  duke  left  the  room,  she 
went  and  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror. 

"  No,  Trimousette,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  you  are  not  pretty ;  your  eyes  are  dark,  and 
you  have  long,  soft,  black  hair-  and  little  feet. 
But  that  is  not  beauty.  Nor  is  the  love  of  the 
most  splendid  duke  in  France  for  you,  al- 
though you  may  be  his  wife." 

The  duke  invited  a  great  party  to  spend 
the  week  at  the  chateau,  and  the  little  duchess 
went  soberly  through  her  duties  as  hostess. 
Everybody  said  she  was  much  too  quiet, 
which  was  true.  Others  said  she  had  no 
feeling,  which  was  ridiculously  false. 
54 


The  Earthquake 


The  party  was  very  gay.  The  world  was 
rapidly  turning  upside  down.  Nobody  had 
any  money,  the  black  clouds  and  red  lightnings 
and  earthquake  shocks  were  bewildering  men's 
minds,  so  the  only  thing  to  do  .was  to  laugh, 
to  dance,  to  sing. 

That  is  what  the  company  at  the  Chateau 
de  Belgarde  did,  the  duke  leading  all  the  wild 
spirits  in  the  party. 

The  one  comfort  the  little  duchess  had  was 
that  her  brother  Victor  was  among  the  roy- 
sterers.  He  was  ever  kind  to  her,  but  like 
her  husband,  a  trifle  careless.  Victor  was 
working  night  and  day  at  a  little  play,  to  be 
produced  in  the  private  theatre  at  Belgarde. 
It  was  meant  to  shadow  forth  the  final  tri- 
umph of  the  aristocracy  over  the  people,  who 
were  making  themselves  to  be  seen  and  heard 
and  felt  at  every  turn.  The  play  was  to 
be  produced  on  the  night  before  the  party 
broke  up. 

Now,  it  was  the  fixed  and  grim  determina- 
5  55 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

tion  of  the  duke  that  Madame  de  Valengay 
should  not  track  him  to  Belgarde,  to  worry 
him.  But  the  lady  was  too  clever  for  him. 
He  could  not  prevent  her  from  visiting  a 
neighboring  chateau,  and  coming  over  with  a 
large  party  to  spend  the  day  at  Belgarde,  as 
country  neighbors  do  everywhere. 

Never  had  Madame  de  Valen^ay  looked 
more  deliciously  seductive  than  on  that  day. 
She  might  have  sat  for  one  of  Botticelli's 
nymphs  in  her  soft  wine  draperies  without  a 
hoop,  being  in  the  country,  her  long  fair  hair 
in  curls  about  her  shoulders,  and  wearing  a 
hat  crowned  with  roses. 

In  contrast  to  this  dazzling  creature  was 
the  pale  little  duchess  sombrely  dressed,  her 
silence,  which  verged  on  awkwardness,  plac- 
ing her  at  the  greatest  disadvantage  beside 
the  brilliant,  rippling  talk  of  Madame  de 
Valenc,ay  and  her  laughter  like  the  music  of 
a  fountain. 

In  one  thing  only  did  the  duchess  carry  off 
56 


The  Earthquake 


the  palm.  Madame  de  Valenc,ay,  like  a  pea- 
cock, was  all  beauty  except  her  feet,  which 
were  large  and  ill-shaped.  The  duchess's 
small,  arched  feet  looked  smaller  than  ever  in 
the  dainty  black  shoes  with  black  silk  stock- 
ings which  she  wore. 

Trimousette  had  shown  ho  sign  of  chagrin 
wrhen  Madame  de  Valengay  arrived  with  a 
merry  party,  all  laughing  and  chattering  like 
so  many  birds  in  spring.  It  was  a  part  of  her 
reticent  pride  to  make  no  complaint,  to  show 
no  uneasiness.  The  duke  was  furiously  angry 
with  Madame  de  Valen9ay  for  hunting  him 
down,  but  she  was  so  beautiful,  she  tripped 
up  and  down  the  terrace  with  such  airy  grace, 
she  was  so  wickedly  merry  at  his  expense, 
that,  manlike,  he  forgave  her. 

This  week,  which  Trimousette  had  pictured 
to  herself  as  so  charming,  turned  out  to  be 
one  of  the  most  trying  of  her  life.  She 
scarcely  saw  her  duke  except  in  the  evening 
when  the  saloons  were  full  of  persons,  and 
57 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

there  was  much  fiddling  and  dancing.  Nor 
did  she  see  much  more  of  Victor,  who  was 
keen  about  his  play.  The  very  last  evening 
of  all  it  was  produced  and  was  a  huge  suc- 
cess. By  some  sort  of  hocus-pocus,  Madame 
de  Valen^ay  had  forced  herself  into  the  cast, 
and  made  a  divinely  beautiful  marquise,  to 
whom  the  duke,  as  a  soldier  of  fortune,  made 
violent  love  and  made  it  well,  too,  his  duchess 
looking  on  with  a  face  composed,  almost  dull. 
Victor  himself  was  disguised  most  bewitch- 
ingly  as  a  ragpicker,  and  in  his  character  de- 
nounced the  aristocracy  furiously,  to  the  up- 
roarious delight  of  his  audience. 

It  was  the  most  amusing  thing  in  the  world, 
and  all  the  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  nearly 
died  of  laughing  at  it.  The  heart  of  the  young 
duchess  alone  did  not  respond  to  this  ridicule 
of  the  earthquakes  and  the  storm  clouds.  She 
remembered  the  words  of  the  washerwomen 
and  the  cooks,  and  the  strange  glare  in  their 
eyes  and  their  pinched  faces. 
58 


The  Earthquake 


The  gayety  of  the  party  lasted  until  mid- 
night, when  the  ball  after  the  play  and  the 
supper  was  nearly  over.  Then  a  messenger, 
pale  and  breathless  with  hard  riding  from 
Paris,  arrived  on  a  spent  horse,  and  told  how 
the  people  had  gone  to  Versailles  and  had 
carried  the  king  and  queen  and  their  children 
and  Madame  Elizabeth  off  to  Paris.  How 
the  king,  foolish  and  shamefaced,  had  ap- 
peared on  the  balcony  of  the  Tuileries  with 
the  red  cap  of  liberty  on  his  head,  and  how 
the  royal  people  were  no  better  than  prisoners 
in  that  palace,  and  that  Paris  had  gone  mad. 

There  were  no  cowards  among  this  party 
at  the  Chateau  of  Belgarde  except  Madame 
de  Valengay.  Much  as  she  loved  the  duke, 
she  loved  her  own  skin  better,  and  privately 
resolved  to  seek  shelter  in  England  until  the 
shower  was  over,  not  knowing  it  to  be  the 
deluge. 

The  duke,  who  had  not  a  drop  of  coward's 
blood  in  him,  started  for  Paris  at  daylight. 
59 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

He  took  his  duchess  with  him,  not  that  he 
particularly  cared  for  her  society,  but  because 
it  did  not  enter  his  rash  head  that  anybody 
should  be  afraid  of  anything.  So  to  Paris 
they  went,  and  on  the  next  night  the  duke 
was  visited  by  a  deputation  of  rapscallions 
calling  themselves  the  National  Guard,  thrust 
into  a  wretched  hackney  coach  with  a  ruffian 
on  each  side  of  him,  and  cast  into  the  prison 
of  the  Temple  as  a  conspirator  against  the 
liberties  of  the  people. 


PART   THREE 


CHAPTER   VI 
DIANE'S  OPINION 

|T  was  one  thing  to  catch  the 
Duke  of  Belgarde  and  another 
thing  to  keep  him.  Exactly 
one  week  from  the  night  of  his 
arrest  and  imprisonment  he 
was  once  more  at  large,  and  all  through  the 
courage,  resource,  and  seductive  powers  of 
his  quiet,  sombre-eyed,  shrinking  young  wife. 
Trimousette  under  a  sharp  spur  became  ar- 
ticulate, and  the  latent  vast  energy  and  spirit 
she  possessed  was  instantly  developed  by  blows 
and  hammerings  as  sparks  are  struck  from 
63 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

the  dull  black  flint.  The  night  of  the  duke's 
arrest  Trimousette  shed  not  one  tear  on  part- 
ing with  the  man  she  loved.  The  duke 
thought  her  rather  insensate  and  would  have 
relished  a  few  tears  from  her.  Nevertheless, 
Trimousette  straightway  set  her  wits,  which 
were  not  inconsiderable,  to  work  in  order  to 
help  her  husband.  She  determined  to  see  him. 
Dressing  herself  in  her  simplest  gown,  for  she 
accorded  best  with  the  note  of  simplicity,  and 
going  straight  to  Marat,  the  most  hideous  and 
abominable  of  men,  she  sweetly  and  calmly 
asked  him  to  permit  her  to  see  her  husband  for 
one  half  hour  to  settle  some  family  affairs. 
Marat  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  simpler, 
more  democratic  young  person  than  this  little 
duchess.  He  was  very  artfully  flattered  by 
Trimousette,  who  had  little  or  no  experience 
in  that  line,  but  who  being  all  a  woman,  suc- 
ceeded admirably  at  the  first  attempt.  Marat, 
admiring  Trimousette's  large  black  eyes, 
agreed  to  do  what  he  could.  These  eyes,  usu- 
64 


Diane's  Opinion 


ally  so  tragic,  assumed  a  smiling  and  bril- 
liant expression  as  soon  as  Trimousette  was 
brought  face  to  face  with  danger.  Within 
twenty-four  hours  after  her  meeting  with 
Marat,  she  was  admitted  to  an  interview  with 
her  husband  in  the  prison  of  the  Temple. 

Of  course  she  was  searched  on  entering  and 
leaving  the  prison.  It  was  an  ordeal  which 
brought  most  great  ladies  to  tears  and  re- 
proaches, but  Trimousette  bore  it  with  some- 
thing that  savored  both  of  dignity  and  co- 
quetry, and  actually  smiled  when  the  ruffians 
who  searched  her  complimented  her  charm- 
ing little  feet.  They  did  not  observe,  around 
the  bottom  of  her  petticoat,  yards  and  yards 
of  flat  silk  braid,  which  made  really  a  good 
strong  rope,  nor  did  they  discover,  hidden 
in  her  thick  black  hair,  some  gold  pieces. 
When  she  was  admitted  to  the  cell  of  the 
duke,  he  was  the  most  surprised  man  in  Paris, 
and  more  so  still  when  Trimousette,  having 
suddenly  found  a  very  eloquent  tongue,  laid 
65 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgardc 

before  him  a  clever  plan  of  escape,  along  with 
all  the  braid  she  was  ripping  off  her  petticoat 
and  the  money  out  of  her  hair.  The  duke 
thought  he  knew  women — certainly  he  had 
seen  a  great  deal  of  them  ever  since  he 
was  a  pretty  page  at  the  court  of  Louis 
the  Fifteenth.  But  he  had  not  been  much 
in  the  way  of  knowing  true  love,  nor  the 
magic  which  it  works  in  the  heart  of  a 
woman. 

He  gazed  at  his  wife  with  something  like 
admiration  for  the  first  time,  and  was  very 
gallant  to  her,  kissing  her  hand.  Trimousette 
did  not  now  mistake  gallantry  for  love.  She 
had  grown  wise  upon  disappointments.  She 
remained  a  short  half  hour,  and  then  proudly, 
for  all  her  humility,  would  not  wait  to  be  no- 
tified, but  left  her  husband's  cell,  bidding  him 
good-by  again  without  a  tear.  Certainly  the 
duke  shed  no  tears.  He  was  deeply  grateful 
to  his  wife  and  profoundly  astonished  at  the 
new  attitude  she  assumed.  Immediately  he 
66 


Diane's  Opinion 


busied  himself  with  the  schemes  for  his  escape 
planned  by  his  wife. 

Three  nights  later,  just  before  daylight,  he 
dropped  out  of  his  prison  window  into  the 
garden  of  the  Temple,  and  scampered  off,  the 
sentry  very  obligingly  turning  his  back  until 
the  duke  was  well  out  of  sight. 

Great  was  the  hue  and  cry  raised  after  the 
Duke  of  Belgarde.  No  suspicion  attached  to 
his  little  duchess,  who  was  then  on  her  way 
to  the  small  castle  on  the  Breton  coast.  True, 
she  had  seen  the  duke,  but  those  who  knew 
about  these  things,  or  thought  they  did,  de- 
clared that  she  was  too  timid,  too  silent,  too 
young  to  assist  in  the  bold  plan  of  escape 
which  had  freed  her  husband. 

Trimousette  arrived  at  Boury  under  in- 
structions from  the  duke  to  remain  there  until 
she  should  get  further  directions  from  him. 
She  reckoned  upon  remaining  a  month ;  and 
stayed  three  years  and  a  half. 

Never  in  the  same  space  of  time  had  so 
67 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

much  happened  in  any  country  as  in  France 
from  1789  to  1794.  The  old  order  that  had 
lasted  a  thousand  years  was  engulfed,  and 
black  chaos  reigned.  The  little  duchess  in 
the  old  stone  castle  by  the  sea  heard  the  rever- 
berating thunders,  and  felt  the  earth  rocking 
under  her  feet,  and  saw  the  crashing  wreck  of 
monarchy.  She  stirred  not,  having  been  told 
to  remain  tranquilly  at  Boury  until  her  lord 
should  send  her  word  otherwise.  The  duke 
was  in  the  thick  of  the  tumult  and  was  in 
danger  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night.  He 
was  sometimes  a  fugitive  for  his  life ;  again 
he  appeared  boldly  in  Paris  and  defied  arrest. 
He  was  not  one  of  those  who  would  have 
saved  poor  Louis  the  Sixteenth  and  Marie 
Antoinette  by  flight.  On  the  contrary,  being 
of  inextinguishable  courage,  he  advised  using 
the  strong  hand,  and  would  have  had  Louis 
the  Sixteenth  show  something  of  the  spirit  of 
Henry  the  Fourth.  The  thing  which  Fer- 
nand,  Duke  of  Belgarde,  hated  most  was 
68 


Diane's  Opinion 


cowardice,  and  through  this  was  he  absolved 
from  the  spell  of  Madame  de  Valer^ay.  She 
had  fled  to  England  and  never  ceased  impor- 
tuning the  duke  by  letter  to  run  away  from 
France.  The  duke  on  reading  these  letters 
would  dash  them  under  foot  and  trample  upon 
them  in  his  fury.  Nor  would  he  answer  them, 
considering  himself  insulted  by  them.  This 
did  not  keep  Madame  de  Valengay  from  writ- 
ing them,  because,  unlike  Trimousette,  she 
was  without  pride. 

The  duke  made  the  handsomest  possible 
thanks  to  his  duchess  for  her  share  in  his 
escape,  and  really  meant  to  show  his  appre- 
ciation of  the  fact  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  who  had  ever  helped  him  and  never 
bothered  him.  But  too  much  was  happening ; 
rivers  of  blood  were  flowing  everywhere,  and 
only  those  things  which  were  insistent  made 
any  impression  on  the  duke,  and  Trimousette 
was  the  least  insistent  person  on  earth. 

Nothing  more  unlike  the  sweet  dream  which 
69 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

Trimousette  had  planned  for  Boury  could  be 
imagined  than  the  life  she  led  there  for  more 
than  three  years.  She  was  quite  alone,  ex- 
cept for  her  dame  de  compagnie,  a  sour  old 
lady  of  whom  Trimousette  was  mortally 
afraid.  True,  she  had  with  her  Diane,  the 
broken-legged  hound,  now  blind  and  scarcely 
able  to  creep  at  Trimousette's  heel  when  the 
two  walked  together  upon  the  rocky  shore  at 
sunset  to  dream  of  the  absent  one.  For  Tri- 
mousette felt  sure  Diane  dreamed  of  her  beau- 
tiful, brilliant  master.  In  the  long  evenings 
spent  in  the  gloomy  old  saloon  Trimousette 
would  take  in  her  hands  Diane's  trembling 
paws  and  whisper: 

"  Diane,  do  you  think  he  ever  remembers 
us  ?  Do  you  think  he  will  ever  send  for  us  ?  " 

And  Diane  would  give  a  melancholy  whine, 
indicating  that  she  did  not  believe  the  duke 
ever  would.  Sure  enough  the  duke  did  not 
send  for  either  his  wife  or  his  dog,  and  poor 
Diane,  weary  of  waiting,  at  last  lay  down 
70 


Diane's  Opinion 


quietly  one  night  by  Trimousette's  bed  and 
was  found  dead  next  morning. 

Trimousette  felt  more  alone  than  ever  in 
her  life  when  the  poor  lame  dog  was  dead. 
Soon  after,  she  got  news  that  Madame  de 
Floramour  had  died  of  chagrin  at  the  disas- 
ters and  irreligion  into  which  France  was 
plunged;  and  last — ah,  cruel  stroke! — Victor 
fell  fighting  gallantly  in  La  Vendee. 

The  young  duchess  bore  these  blows  in 
patience  and  silence.  The  duke  managed  to 
contrive  a  letter  of  sympathy  to  his  duchess 
when  the  soul  of  Victor  de  Floramour  was 
called  away.  The  letter  was  very  ill-spelled 
and  ill-written,  for  the  duke's  accomplish- 
ments were  those  of  Henry  the  Fourth — he 
could  drink,  he  could  fight,  and  he  could  be 
gallant  to  the  ladies,  but  he  could  not  write, 
although  he  could  think  excellently  well.  Tri- 
mousette treasured  this  rude  scrawl.  It  was 
the  nearest  to  a  love  letter  she  had  ever  re- 
ceived from  any  man. 
6  71 


CHAPTER   VII 

CITIZENESS    BELGARDE 

|N  the  long  days  and  months 
and  years  Trimousette  spent 
at  Boury  she  was  forced  to 
employ  herself.  She  had  no 
great  taste  for  books  beyond 
books  of  poetry,  but  she  practiced  on  the 
cracked  harpsichord  which  had  belonged  to 
the  duke's  mother,  and  she  developed  a  pretty 
little  voice  in  which  she  sang  to  herself  songs 
of  love  and  longing.  One  day,  during  the 
winter  of  1794,  Trimousette  got  some  news 
from  Paris.  Queen  Marie  Antoinette  had 
72 


Citiseness  Belgarde 


followed  King  Louis  to  the  guillotine,  and  the 
Duke  of  Belgarde  was  once  more  in  the  prison 
of  the  Temple.  He  got  there  by  one  of  the 
few  acts  of  stupidity  he  ever  committed  in  his 
life.  He  had  slipped  into  Paris  after  the  exe- 
cution of  Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  determined 
to  save  the  little  Dauphin  if  the  wit  of  man 
and  the  sacrifice  of  many  lives  could  contrive 
it.  Then  came  in  the  stupidity.  This  duke, 
who  could  do  everything  superlatively  well 
except  to  write  and  spell,  undertook  to  pass 
himself  off  as  a  schoolmaster!  Moreover,  he 
wore  a  shabby  brocade  coat,  the  last  remnant 
of  his  wardrobe.  Robespierre  and  St.  Just 
then  had  France  by  the  throat  and  were  wolf- 
ishly  devouring  her  children.  It  did  not  take 
them  long  to  discover  that  this  schoolmaster 
who-  could  not  spell  was  Fernand,  Duke  of 
Belgarde,  and  they  promptly  clapped  him  into 
prison.  For  those  unfortunates  imprisoned  by 
these  two  men  there  was  but  one  exit  and  that 
was  in  the  arms  of  Madame  Guillotine,  who 
73 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

held  a  well-attended  court  at  sunset  every  day 
in  the  Place  de  la  Revolution. 

Within  a  fortnight  Trimousette  heard  this 
grim  news  of  her  husband.  It  was  February, 
the  ground  was  covered  with  snow,  and  for  a 
duchess  to  go  to  Paris  was  like  putting  one's 
head  in  the  lion's  mouth.  All  this  was  urged 
upon  Trimousette  by  her  dame  de  compagnie, 
It  had  no  more  effect  upon  her  than  the  soft 
falling  snow  upon  the  Breton  rocks.  Before 
midnight  on  the  day  she  heard  the  heart- 
breaking news  Trimousette  was  on  her  way  to 
Paris.  She  was  not  in  her  own  ducal  travel- 
ing chariot,  but  in  the  common  diligence,  for 
this  inexperienced  creature  seemed  gifted 
with  a  kind  of  prescience,  nay,  a  genius  of 
common  sense,  which  stood  her  in  place  of 
actual  knowledge  of  the  world.  She  traveled 
as  Madame  Belgarde,  wisely  dropping  the  de, 
and  absolutely  alone,  refusing  even  to  take  a 
maid. 

Three  days  afterwards,  on  a  March  morn- 
74 


Citiseness  Belgardc 


ing,  Robespierre,  the  apostle  of  murder,  had 
just  finished  arraying  himself  in  the  sky-blue 
coat  and  cream-colored  breeches  which  he 
loved,  when  a  lady  was  announced  in  the 
anteroom.  Robespierre  loved  the  society  of 
ladies,  and-  one  of  the  privileges  of  his  posi- 
tion as  chief  murderer  was  the  sight  of  dainty 
women  prostrate  before  him,  begging  and  im- 
ploring him  for  the  lives  of  their  husbands, 
fathers,  or  sons. 

The  lady  in  this  case  neither  prostrated 
herself,  nor  begged,  nor  implored.  She  was 
quite  calm  and  self-possessed,  and  although 
not  beautiful  had  fine  black  eyes.  After 
making  Robespierre  a  charming  curtsey,  she 
said,  smiling: 

"  Citizen  Robespierre,  I  am  Citizeness  Bel- 
garde,  once  known  as  the  Duchess  of  Bel- 
garde,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  that  I  be 
admitted  to  share  the  imprisonment  of  my 
husband,  once  Duke  of  Belgarde." 

Robespierre,  who  dearly  loved  a  duchess, 
75 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

motioned  Trimousette  to  be  seated,  then  said 
in  his  croaking  voice  after  a  moment : 

"  There  is  no  doubt  your  husband  has  con- 
spired against  the  liberties  of  the  people,  and 
the  only  way  in  which  those  liberties  can  be 
secured  is  by  the  death  of  all  those  who  would 
have  destroyed  liberty,  like  that  tyrant  Louis 
Capet." 

Now,  thought  Robespierre,  she  will  begin 
to  sob  and  beg  for  her  husband's  life.  But 
not  so.  Trimousette  reflected  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  softly  and  clearly : 

"  The  killing  of  his  Most  Christian  Majesty 
and  of  the  blessed  Queen  Marie  Antoinette 
was  barbarous  murder." 

Robespierre  started  violently.  No  man, 
much  less  a  woman,  had  dared  before  to  say 
so  much  to  him.  He  looked  with  scowling 
green  eyes  at  Trimousette  composed  and  even 
smiling  slightly. 

"  The  National  Assembly  long  since  de- 
creed the  death  of  all  who  should  advance 
76 


Citiseness  Belgarde 


such  treason,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  could 
catch  breath. 

"  So  I  supposed,"  replied  Trirhousette ; 
"  but  if  I  can  but  be  allowed  in  my  husband's 
prison " 

A  light  leaped  into  her  black  eyes  as  she 
spoke.  Robespierre,  stroking  his  chin,  re- 
garded her  critically.  How  would  she  go  to 
the  guillotine?  Probably  quite  quietly,  with- 
out making  the  least  outcry  of  resistance. 

"  Now,  Citizen  Robespierre,"  said  Trimou- 
sette,  rising  and  coming  toward  him,  "  surely, 
you  cannot  refuse  the  request  of  a  lady.  I 
came  to  you  not  only  because  you  have  all 
power,  but  because  I  knew  you  to  be  gallant 
— a  gentleman,  in  short." 

So  said  the  most  sincere  of  women  glan- 
cing at  Robespierre  with  a  look  dangerously 
near  to  coquetry  as  well  as  flattery,  and 
nobody  had  ever  suspected  this  taciturn  wom- 
an of  being  either  a  coquette  or  a  flat- 
terer. Yet,  being  a  woman,  she  could  be  both 
77 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

coquette  and  flatterer  for  the  man  she  loved. 
What  perjuries  will  women  commit  for  love! 
Robespierre  reflected  and  Trimousette  smiled. 
He  spoke  and  she  answered  him  with  soft, 
insinuating  words;  and  at  last  she  got  out  of 
him  the  written  commitment,  charging  her, 
too,  with  conspiring  against  the  liberties  of 
the  people,  and  condemning  her  to  be  im- 
prisoned with  her  husband,  Citizen  Fernand 
Belgarde,  in  the  prison  of  the  Temple. 

Trimousette  almost  laughed  aloud  with  joy 
when  this  grim  document  was  made  out,  and 
again  gave  Robespierre  a  bewitching  little 
curtsey,  such  as  the  most  finished  coquette 
might  have  done.  She  climbed  joyfully  into 
the  dirty  cab  with  the  dirtier  gendarmes  who 
were  to  deliver  her  to  the  jailers  in  the  Temple 

It  was  a  mild  March  afternoon  when  he 
who  had  once  been  Duke  of  Belgarde  sat  at 
his  prison  window,  looking  down  into  the 
dreary  old  garden  of  the  Temple.  The  win- 
dow was  semicircular,  reaching  from  the  floor 
78 


Citizeness  Belgardc 


half  way  to  the  low  ceiling,  and  gave  not 
much  of  sun  or  even  light.  The  duke  was 
thinking,  strangely  enough,  of  his  duchess. 
She  was  a  good  little  thing;  shy,  but  not  a 
born  coward  like  the  Valengay  woman — nay, 
somewhat  indifferent  to  danger  and,  for  a 
woman,  averse  from  shrieking  and  screaming, 
but  timid  in  her  attitude  toward  life.  She 
had  certainly  showed  some  ingenuity  in  for- 
warding his  escape  three  years  and  a  half 
ago.  The  duke  had  made  up  his  mind  upon 
his  arrest  that  there  was  not  much  chance 
of  a  duke  and  peer  of  France  escaping  the 
guillotine,  and  so  quite  coolly  accepted  the 
certainty  that  his  name  would  soon  be  in  the 
list  which  was  posted  up  every  morning,  of 
those  for  whom  the  tumbrils  would  wait  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  As  his  inexpert- 
ness  with  the  pen  had  got  him  into  his  present 
plight,  the  duke  determined  to  remedy  that 
defect  in  his  education.  He  had  on  his  incar- 
ceration gravely  explained  to  the  turnkey  that 
79 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

there  might  not  be  much  use  for  writing  in 
purgatory,  where  he  declared  all  gentlemen 
went  —  the  revolutionists  going  to  eternal 
punishment,  and  the  ladies  to  heaven.  Never- 
theless, he  meant  to  improve  his  handwriting. 
On  this  March  afternoon  the  duke,  seated  at 
a  rickety  table,  was  busy  practicing  his  new 
accomplishment  of  writing,  when  he  heard  the 
door  of  his  cell  open  behind  him.  He  did  not 
turn  his  head.  This  Citizen  Belgarde  was  a 
disdainful  fellow,  and  never  saw  his  jailers 
until  they  stood  before  him.  In  spite  of  this, 
and  perhaps  because  of  it,  he  was  a  favorite 
with  turnkey  Duval,  who  often  frankly  ex- 
pressed his  regret  that  the  day  was  not  far  off 
when  Citizen  Belgarde  would  be  started  in 
a  tumbril  on  his  way  to  the  Place  de  la 
Revolution. 

Trimousette,  standing  just  within  the  door, 
which  was  closed  behind  her,  had  a  good  look 
at  her  duke — as  good,  that  is,  as  her  fast- 
beating  heart  would  permit  to  her  yearning 
80 


Citiseness  Belgarde 


tear-filled  eyes.  Upon  his  profile,  clearly  sil- 
houetted against  the  window's  dim  light,  she 
saw  the  pallor  of  a  prisoner.  He  still  wore 
his  shabby  brocade  coat  and  an  embroidered 
waistcoat,  but  both  were  threadbare  and 
dingy.  His  hair,  long  and  curling,  was  tied 
with  a  black  ribbon  to  distinguish  him  from 
the  cropped  heads  which  the  revolutionists 
affected.  But  his  eyes,  the  eyes  of  a  fighter, 
were  undaunted,  and  his  mouth  still  knew  how 
to  smile.  The  Duke  of  Belgarde  considered 
that  he  had  lost  the  game  of  life,  and  the  only 
thing  left  was  to  pay  like  a  gentleman.  As 
Trimousette  watched,  he  threw  down  his  pen, 
pushed  his  chair  back,  cocked  his  feet  upon 
the  table,  and  began  to  whistle  quite  jovially 
"  Vive  Henri  Quatre." 

Still  he  had  not  looked  toward  her,  and  Tri- 
mousette's  courage,  having  brought  her  alone 
in  night  and  storm  from  Brittany,  and  strong- 
ly sustained  her  when  she  went  to  see  Robes- 
pierre of  the  green  eyes  and  croaking  voice, 
81 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

and  got  herself  condemned  to  prison  upon  a 
capital  charge — could  not  carry  her  the  yard 
or  two  between  her  and  her  soul's  desire. 

But  then  the  duke  turned,  recognized  her, 
rose,  and,  obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  opened 
his  arms  to  her.  True,,  he  would  have  re- 
joiced to  see  a  dog,  even  broken-legged  Diane, 
anything  which  was  connected  with  the  splen- 
did dream  of  the  past.  Yet  was  the  duke 
actually  glad  to  see  the  only  woman  who  could 
love  him  without  worrying  him. 

Trimousette  did  not  fly  into  his  arms.  Poor 
soul,  even  at  that  moment  rose  the  undying 
instinct  of  womanhood  not  to  yield  too  quick- 
ly. The  duke  came  forward  and,  by  the  same 
impulse,  swept  her  into  his  arms.  At  once,  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  love  was  born  within 
him,  and  he  kissed  her  as  a  lover  for  the  first 
time  in  their  married  life.  A  glory,  as  of  the 
morning,  rose  before  Trimousette's  eyes.  She 
had  lost  all,  even  her  life  was  a  forfeit,  but 
she  had  gained  all — her  husband's  love. 
82 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   BEGINNING   OF   THE    HONEYMOON 

[RESENTLY  the  first  agitation 
was  past,  and  Trimousette 
told,  as  if  it  were  the  simplest 
thing  in  the  world,  the  story  of 
her  journey  alone  by  diligence 
from  the  Breton  coast  to  Paris,  and  how  she 
forced  her  way  into  Robespierre's  presence 
and  had  wrung  from  him  the  boon  of  being 
with  her  husband. 

"  But  let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,"  said  the 
duke  gently,  still  holding  her  to  his  breast. 
"  I    shall   not   escape   from   the   Temple  this 
83 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

time.  No  man  has  ever  got  away  from  this 
prison  twice.  I  am  destined  to  follow  his 
Majesty  the  King  and  her  Majesty  the  Queen 
to  the  guillotine." 

He  expected  that  Trimousette  would  faint 
or  shriek  when  he  said  this,  but  she  looked  at 
him  with  calm  eyes  and  answered  in  a  soft, 
unbroken  voice: 

"  So  it  may  be,  but  Robespierre  has  prom- 
ised me  that  when  you  leave  the  prison  I  shall 
go  with  you." 

The  duke  held  her  a  little  way  from  him 
and  studied  her  reflectively.  Yes,  it  was  bet- 
ter so.  In  a  flash  had  been  revealed  to  him 
the  height  and  depth  of  her  adoration.  What 
would  be  her  fate  if  left  alone  among  those 
howling  wolves  who  now  ravened  France? 
He  would  have  taken  with  him  any  creature 
that  he  loved,  as  he  would  have  saved  a 
bullet  for  that  creature  if  he  had  been  sur- 
rounded and  overwhelmed  by  savages,  whose 
blood  thirst  must  be  appeased. 
84 


The  Beginning  of  the  Honeymoon 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  Trimousette,  still 
smiling  and  composed,  "  let  us  here  await 
God's  will." 

"  And  that  of  the  National  Assembly," 
grimly  replied  the  duke,  who  had  not  become 
either  pious  or  forgiving  under  the  shadow 
of  the  guillotine,  but,  like  most  men,  was  the 
same  in  all  circumstances.  Some,  however, 
mistake  fear  for  repentance — not  so  Fernand, 
Duke  of  Belgarde. 

There  was  but  one  chair,  one  bed,  one  table 
in  the  room,  and  when  the  turnkey  brought 
the  duke's  supper,  there  was  only  one  cup, 
one  plate,  and  no  spoon  or  knife  at  all.  To 
the  turnkey's  surprise,  Citizen  and  Citizeness 
Belgarde  made  merry  at  this.  Trimousette  was 
to  have  a  little  cell  opening  into  the  duke's, 
but  when  the  rusty  door  was  forced  wide, 
there  was  nothing  but  the  bare  walls  and  floor. 
The  duke,  assuming  an  air  of  authority  as 
if  he  were  giving  orders  to  a  lackey  at  the 
Chateau  de  Belgarde,  directed  the  turnkey  to 
85 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

bring  what  was  necessary  for  the  comfort  of 
the  Duchess  of  Belgarde,  and  the  turnkey, 
appreciating  the  joke,  grinned  and  winked  at 
the  duke.  Then  the  duchess,  in  her  sweet, 
complaisant  manner,  said  to  him : 

"  Pray,  take  no  offense  at  the  Duke  of  Bel- 
garde.  He  is  not  yet  used  to  being  in  prison. 
But  do  me  the  favor,  please,  kind  sir,  to  give 
me  at  least  a  bed  to  sleep  upon  and  a  chair 
to  sit  in.  Not  so  good  as  your  wife  has 
at  home,  perhaps,  but  I  shall  be  easily  sat- 
isfied." 

The  turnkey  Duval  went,  and  returned 
after  a  few  minutes  to  say  that  not  only  might 
the  duchess  have  a  bed  and  a  chair  and  a 
table,  but  he  would  even  get  an  old  counter- 
pane and  hang  it  up  as  a  curtain  between  the 
cells.  This  was  luxury  undreamed  of  by  Tri- 
mousette,  and  she  overwhelmed  Duval  with 
pretty  thanks.  The  turnkey  of  his  own  ac- 
cord put  up  the  bed  and  placed  the  chair  and 
table  which  all  prisoners  were  allowed,  and, 
86 


The  Beginning  of  the  Honeymoon 

having  himself  a  taste  for  luxury,  actually 
laid  a  piece  of  carpet  by  the  side  of  the  bed 
and  put  a  coarse  cover  on  the  table. 

This  prison  supper  was  the  first  time  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Belgarde  had  ever 
supped  together  alone  with  each  other.  They 
felt  a  furtive  and  secret  joy  at  being  together, 
for  the  duke  had  been  steadily  falling  in  love 
with  his  wife  ever  since  she  appeared  in  his 
cell  an  hour  before.  He  noticed  a  new  expres- 
sion in  her  black  eyes,  an  expression  of  hope 
and  even  of  joy.  Trimousette,  with  a  woman's 
keenness,  knew  she  was  on  the  road  to  her 
kingdom — her  husband's  heart.  It  was  so  odd 
that  it  was  almost  comical,  the  way  the  duke 
examined  his  wife.  She  certainly  had  beau- 
tiful eyes,  and  a  slim  figure,  and  although 
dressed  in  the  simplest  manner,  as  became  a 
lady  who  traveled  alone,  Trimousette  had  not 
forgotten  her  solitary  piece  of  coquetry — her 
delicious  little  shoes.  Also,  she  had  suddenly 
found  her  tongue,  and  talked  to  her  husband  so 
7  87 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

freely  and  even  gayly  that  he  was  astounded. 
Was  this  the  silent,  shy,  awkward  girl  he 
had  married  so  many  years  ago  and  who  had 
seemed  to  be  growing  shyer,  more  silent,  more 
awkward  every  year?  He  was  so  surprised, 
so  pleased,  so  touched,  that  he  scarcely  knew 
what  to  make  of  it.  The  sky  was  still  alight 
when  their  supper  was  over,  and  Trimousette 
produced  some  needlework  which  she  had 
been  allowed  to  bring  into  the  prison.  She 
was  very  artful,  was  this  artless  Trimousette, 
and  not  meaning  to  thrust  her  company  on 
her  husband,  retired  to  her  own  little  cell. 
There  a  charming  surprise  awaited  her.  The 
turnkey,  over  whom  Trimousette  had  thrown 
a  spell  of  enchantment,  had  placed  upon  her 
table  a  pot  containing  a  geranium  with  ten 
leaves  and  two  brilliant  scarlet  blossoms. 
Trimousette,  after  admiring  her  treasure,  sat 
down  upon  her  one  chair  and  began  to  stitch 
diligently  by  the  fading  light.  She  was  ever 
a  good  needlewoman.  Most  prisoners,  as  soon 
88 


The  Beginning  of  the  Honeymoon 

as  they  were  incarcerated,  begged  for  pen,  ink, 
and  paper,  to  write  to  their  friends,  and  to 
begin  their  struggle  to  get  out  of  prison.  Not 
so  Trimousette.  She  had  no  one  to  write  to, 
and  particularly  did  not  wish  to  get  out  of 
prison. 

As  she  sat  sewing,  she  heard  the  duke  mov- 
ing restlessly  about  in  the  next  cell,  beyond 
the  ragged  curtain.  A  mysterious  smile  came 
into  Trimousette's  eyes  and  upon  her  lips ; 
her  husband  was  uneasy  without  her ;  he  must 
come  and  seek  her — oh,  rapturous  thought! 
Presently,  the  duke  knocked  quite  timidly  at 
the  side  of  the  door.  It  might  have  been  Tri- 
mousette herself,  the  knock  was  so  gentle; 
and  when  Trimousette  softly  bade  him  enter, 
he  said,  quite  shamefacedly: 

"  I  have  never  been  lonely  in  this  place 
before,  for  my  thoughts,  although  painful 
enough,  always  kept  me  busy.  But  I  have 
grown  very  lonely  without  you  in  the  last  five 
minutes.  May  I  enter  ?  " 


The  Last  DucJiess  of  Bel  garde 

In  that  hour  began  Trimousette's  long- 
delayed  honeymoon. 

Trimousette,  being  by  nature  orderly  and 
the  duke  philosophic,  they  regulated  their 
lives  as  if  they  expected  to  die  of  old  age  in 
the  prison  of  the  Temple.  The  duke  had  never 
before  had  much  leisure  for  reading,  his  time 
having  been  chiefly  taken  up  with  war  and 
the  ladies,  nor  had  he  felt  the  need  of  any 
proficiency  in  writing  until  he  became  the 
guest  of  the  Revolution.  His  newly  found 
accomplishment  with  the  pen  revealed  to  him 
a  gift  which  neither  he  nor  anyone  else 
ever  suspected  in  him.  He  could  write  verses, 
very  pretty  verses,  all  addressed  to  Trimou- 
sette. These  she  set  to  music  and  sang  in  a 
sweet  little  voice.  Some  of  these  songs  were 
quite  gay  and  coquettish,  and  Trimousette 
sang  them  gayly  and  coquettishly.  Thus  was 
the  kingdom  of  poetry  and  song  opened  to 
them  and  they  entered  it  hand  in  hand.  When 
they  sat  together  at  the  rude  table  in  the  pur- 
90 


The  Beginning  of  the  Honeymoon 

pie  April  nights,  the  duke  teaching  Trimou- 
sette  his  verses  and  she  singing  them  softly 
to  him,  they  gazed  with  rapture  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  wondered  how  they  could 
ever  have  lived  apart. 

They  had  no  watch  or  clock  and  no  means 
of  telling  the  time  except  by  the  prison  bells, 
until  the  duke  contrived,  with  a  wooden  peg 
driven  into  the  bare  table,  a  rude  sundial. 
They  would  not  put  upon  it  the  motto  of  the 
sundial  in  the  old  garden  where  Trimousette 
had  first  dreamed  of  the  duke ;  it  was  too  sad. 
The  duke  suggested  the  old,  old  one,  "  Only 
the  happy  hours  I  mark,"  but  Trimousette 
shook  her  head. 

"  Are  not  all  our  hours  happy  when  we  are 
together  ?  "  she  asked,  and  her  husband  for 
answer  caught  her  to  his  breast. 

"  I  know  another  motto,"  she  whispered ; 
"  it  is  on  the  sundial  on  the  broken  terrace  at 
Boury,  '  'Tis  always  morning  somewhere  in 
the  world.'  " 

91 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

The  duke  therefore  etched,  with  a  piece  of  a 
nail  out  of  his  shoe,  this  motto  upon  the  table, 
and  Trimousette  said  it  meant  that  when  they 
made  their  journey  some  evening  to  the  Place 
de  la  Revolution,  they  would  close  their  eyes 
for  a  few  minutes  and  open  them  upon  the 
Eternal  Morning.  She  had  many  sweet  su- 
perstitions, but  behind  them  lay  a  noble  cour- 
age and  faith  itself. 

Trimousette  was  not  always  employed  with 
poetry  and  music,  however,  but  devised  for 
herself  many  graceful  and  feminine  employ- 
ments, the  duke  watching  her  meanwhile  with 
great  delight.  In  the  mornings  she,  like  a 
good  housewife,  would  sew  with  diligence, 
and  patched  and  mended  the  duke  beautifully. 
Her  own  wardrobe  contained  but  two  gowns, 
a  black  one,  which  she  wore  every  day,  and  a 
white  one,  which  she  saved  carefully  for  a  cer- 
tain great  occasion  likely  to  arrive  any  day ; 
for  although  she  and  her  duke  lived  in  their 
two  cells  with  love  and  peace,  neither  of  them 
92 


The  Beginning  of  the  Honeymoon 

expected  release  except  by  the  road  which  led 
to  the  guillotine  in  the  Place  de  la  Revolution. 
Robespierre  had  promised  it,  and  in  these  mat- 
ters he  never  broke  his  word.  They  faced  the 
future  with  a  composure  which  amazed  them- 
selves. The  duke  had  the  courage  of  a  sol- 
dier who  is  always  ready  to  answer  the  last 
roll  call;  Trimousette's  simple  and  sublime 
faith  would  have  made  her  walk  to  the  stake 
as  calmly  as  to  the  guillotine. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  a 
man  with  red  blood  in  him  like  Fernand, 
Duke  of  Belgarde,  could  see  a  new,  sweet  life 
of  love  opening  before  him,  and  then  could 
always  bring  himself  to  resignation.  He  said 
little  when  these  moods,  like  slaves  in  revolt, 
possessed  him.  At  such  times  he  would  rise 
from  his  bed  in  the  night,  grinding  his  teeth 
and  quivering  with  a  dumb  rage,  and  walk 
stealthily  like  a  cunning  madman,  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  his  narrow  cell.  Tri- 
mousette  waking,  would  rise,  and  going  to 
93 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Bel  garde 

him  in  the  darkness,  gently  recall  him  to  his 
manhood,  his  fortitude,  his  heart  of  a  soldier, 
and  then  with  the  earnestness  of  an  angel  and 
the  simplicity  of  a  child,  she  would  tell  him 
of  the  strange  certainty  she  felt  that  they 
would  not  be  separated  even  in  the  passage 
of  the  abyss  called  death.  The  duke,  listening 
to  her,  and  feeling  the  soft  clasp  of  her  arm 
about  his  neck,  would  find  something  like  re- 
pose descend  upon  his  tumultuous  soul.  At 
least,  they  would  go  together — that  much  of 
comfort  was  theirs.  But  it  was  only  at  times 
that  this  mood  came  upon  the  duke.  Soldier- 
like, he  had  always  looked  upon  death  as  an 
incident,  and  the  only  really  important  thing 
about  it  was  how  the  thing  could  be  done  with 
the^  greatest  ease  and  dignity. 

"  And  surely,"  Trimousette  would  say, 
drawing  up  her  slight  figure  and  showing  the 
pride  that  was  always  alive,  but  secret  in  her 
heart,  "  to  die  for  one's  loyalty  is  a  very  good 
way  for  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Belgarde 
94 


The  Beginning  of  the  Honeymoon 

to  make  their  exit."  Let  no  one  feel  sorry 
for  Trimousette.  She  had  passed  through 
the  Gate  of  Tears  forever,  and  was  already 
in  that  Garden  of  All  Delight,  which  men  call 
Perfect  Love. 


CHAPTER    IX 

TO-MORROW 

|  VERY  day  at  noon  the  prison- 
ers walked  for  an  hour  in  the 
garden  and  courtyard  of  the 
Temple.  They  were  quite 
cheerful,  and  sometimes  even 
gay.  Madame  Guillotine  was  grown  familiar 
to  their  thoughts.  They  paid  each  other  com- 
pliments upon  their  courage,  and  made  little 
jokes  on  very  grim  subjects.  The  honey- 
moon of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Belgarde 
amused,  but  also  touched  their  fellow  prison- 
ers. Among  these  was  a  pretty  boy  of  six- 
96 


To-morrow 


teen,  the  Vicomte  d'Aronda.  His  father  had 
died,  as  had  Victor,  Count  of  Floramour,  gal- 
lantly fighting  in  La  Vendee.  His  mother  and 
sister  had  perished  in  the  embrace  of  Madame 
Guillotine.  The  boy  alone  remained.  He  felt 
himself  every  inch  a  man,  and  showed  more 
than  a  man's  courage.  He  was  immensely 
captivated  by  the  Duke  of  Belgarde's  dashing 
air,  which  he  still  retained  in  spite  of  his 
patched  coat  and  shabby  hat,  and  when  the 
duke  introduced  the  little  vicomte  to  Trimou- 
sette,  the  boy  fell,  if  possible,  more  in  love 
with  her  than  with  the  duke.  Every  day  dur- 
ing their  hour  of  exercise  in  the  garden  he 
watched  for  them,  and  his  boyish  face  red- 
dened with  pleasure  when  they  would  ask  him 
to  join  them  on  their  promenade  up  and  down 
the  broken  flags.  It  diverted  the  duke  to 
pretend  to  be  jealous  of  so  gallant  a  fellow 
as  the  little  vicomte,  and  the  boy  himself,  half 
bashful  and  half  saucy,  was  charmed  with  the 
notion  of  being  treated  as  a  gay  dog.  Neither 
97" 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

the  duke  nor  Trimousette  ever  spoke  to  the 
boy  of  the  fate  that  lay  before  him,  as  well 
as  themselves,  for  he  was  so  young — but  six- 
teen years  old — and  the  soul  is  not  full  fledged 
at  sixteen.  One  day,  however,  the  lad  him- 
self broached  the  subject. 

"  You  see,  madame  and  monsieur,"  he 
said,  quite  serenely,  "  all  the  men  of  my  line 
have  known  how  to  die,  whether  in  their  beds 
of  old  age,  or  falling  from  their  horses  in 
battle,  and  I,  too,  know  how  to  die.  I  shall 
be  perfectly  easy,  and  not  let  the  villains  who 
execute  me  see  that  I  care  anything  about  it. 
My  mother  died  as  bravely  as  the  Queen  her- 
self ;  so  did  my  sister,  only  twenty  years  old ; 
and  I  shall  not  disgrace  them.  But  I  should 
like  very  much  to  go  the  same  day  with  you. 
It  would  seem  quite  lonely  to  walk  in  this 
garden  without  you." 

When  he  said  this,  a  woman's  passion  of 
pity  for  the  boy  overwhelmed  Trimousette. 
She  felt  nothing  like  pity  for  her  own  fate  or 
98 


To-morrow 


that  of  the  man  she  loved;  they  had  entered 
into  Paradise  before  their  time,  that  was  all. 
But  the  boy  was  too  young  to  have  had  even 
a  glimpse  of  that  Paradise.  At  least  he 
would  go  in  his  white-souled  youth,  and  this 
thought  comforted  Trimousette. 

So  passed  the  happiest  month  of  Trimou- 
sette's  life.  Her  pale  cheek  grew  rosy  and 
rounded  like  a  child's.  Her  black  eyes  lost 
their  tragic  and  melancholy  expression  and 
now  shone  with  a  soft  splendor  of  deep  peace 
and  even  joy.  Trimousette,  Duchess  of  Bel- 
garde,  had  come  into  her  own  at  last.  She  re- 
ceived from  her  husband  the  constant  tribute 
of  his  adoring  and  admiring  love.  When  she 
glanced  up  from  her  sewing,  it  was  to  find  the 
duke's  eyes  lifted  from  his  book  or  his  writ- 
ing and  fixed  upon  her.  If  she  moved  across 
the  narrow  little  cell,  he  watched  her,  noting 
the  grace  of  her  movements.  He  told  her 
twenty  times  a  day  that  she  had  the  most 
beautiful,  dainty  feet  in  the  world.  When  she 
99 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

sang  her  little  songs  to  him  in  a  small  pretty 
voice,  the  duke  thought  it  the  most  exquisite 
melody  he  had  ever  heard.  They  were  as  far 
removed  from  the  world  as  if  they  were  upon 
another  planet,  and  standing  on  the  lonely 
peak  of  existence  between  the  two  abysms 
from  which  man  emerges  and  into  which  he 
descends,  it  was  as  if  they  contained  in  them- 
selves the  universe. 

It  was  now  April ;  the  days  were  long  and 
bright,  and  the  nights  short  and  brilliant  with 
moonlight  and  star  shine.  One  day — it  was 
the  twenty-first  of  April — the  air  was  so  warm 
and  Maylike  that  Trimousette  laid  aside  her 
heavy  black  gown  and  put  on  the  only  other 
one  she  possessed — her  white  one,  which  she 
had  saved  for  her  bridal  with  death.  Her 
husband  had  not  seen  her  in  a  white  gown  for 
a  long,  long  time,  and  paid  her  such  loverlike 
compliments  that  Trimousette  blushed  with 
delight.  When  the  time  came  for  them  to  go 
into  the  gardens  for  their  one  hour  of  fresh 
100 


To-morrow 


air  many  of  the  prisoners  remarked  upon  Tri- 
mousette's  white  gown,  and  the  little  Vicomte 
d'Aronda,  coming  up,  said  gallantly : 

"  Madame,  I  beg  to  present  you  with  a  bou- 
quet I  gathered  for  you  this  morning,"  and 
handed  her  five  puny  dandelions  and  some 
milkweed,  tied  together  with  a  bit  of  grass. 

Trimousette  was  charmed,  and  thanked  the 
boy  so  prettily  that  he  blushed  redder  than 
ever,  and  the  duke  declared  the  vicomte  was 
a  dangerous  fellow  with  the  ladies — at  which 
the  lad  answered  saucily: 

"Ah,  monsieur,  if  I  could  live  until  I  am 
grown  up !  Then  I  should  indeed  be  devoted 
to  the  ladies." 

The  duke  turned  away  his  head.  The  boy 
was  but  sixteen  years  old  and  he  would  not 
live  to  be  much  older. 

That  day  was  illuminated  for  Trimousette; 
it  was  so  softly  bright.  As  the  afternoon  wore 
on,  its  languid  beauty,  its  sad  sweetness  en- 
tered into  the  soul  of  Trimousette.  She  did 
101 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

not  busy  herself  as  usual  with  the  little  tasks 
she  had  devised  for  herself,  but  sat  and  moved 
in  a  soft  and  composed  reverie.  Then,  for  a 
long  time  she  watched  the  rude  sundial,  study- 
ing the  motto,  and,  almost  involuntarily,  she 
wrote  upon  the  table  with  her  pen  the  old 
motto  about  the  passing  of  the  shadows  called 
man.  She  was  serious,  but  not  sad,  and  when 
the  duke,  taking  her  hand,  said  to  her : 

"  My  little  Trimousette,  does  your  heart 
ache  because  we,  shadows  that  we  are,  shall 
no  more  pass  this  way  ? "  Trimousette  re- 
plied : 

"  I  tell  you  truly,  my  heart  has  not  once 
ached  for  myself  since  I  have  been  in  this 
prison." 

And  with  a  lovely  sidelong  glance  from  her 
black  eyes,  now  no  longer  sad,  she  continued, 
smiling : 

''  We  have  had  our  honeymoon,  and  no 
price  can  be  too  dear  for  that." 

For  the  hundredth  time  the  duke  begged 
102 


To-morrow 


her  pardon  for  those  early  years  of  neglect, 
and  Trimousette,  answering  his  burning 
kisses,  whispered : 

"  It  does  not  matter  now.  All  the  great 
joys  and  griefs  color  the  past  as  well  as  the 
present.  Since  you  were  to  love  me,  I  could 
wait." 

The  perfect  day  had  a  sunset  of  unearthly 
beauty.  Together  at  the  low-arched  window 
in  the  great  prison  wall  Trimousette  and  her 
best  beloved  watched  the  rosy  sunset  glow 
give  way  to  the  keen  flashing  stars  shining  in 
the  deep  blue  heavens.  They  talked  a  little, 
softly,  but  presently  an  eloquent  silence  fell 
between  them.  Trimousette's  head  was  upon 
her  husband's  shoulder,  and  after  a  time  she 
slept.  The  duke  drew  her  mantle  about  her 
and  held  her  close.  And  thus,  in  warmth  and 
peace  and  love,  Trimousette  slept  an  hour. 
It  was  close  upon  nine  o'clock  and  a  great 
vivid  moon  flooded  the  little  cell  with  its  sil- 
very radiance  when  the  duke  heard  the  key 
8  103 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

turning  quietly  in  the  heavy  lock.  Duval,  the 
turnkey,  entered,  and  obeying  a  sign  from  the 
duke,  walked  noiselessly  toward  him.  The 
turnkey's  coarse  face  was  pale,  and  his  rough 
hands  shook.  He  said  in  a  whisper  to  the 
duke : 

"  It  is  to-morrow — at  seven  in  the  evening 
— sunset  time." 

The  duke  nodded  coolly.  The  hour  being 
at  hand  he  was  all  courage. 

The  turnkey  pointed  to  the  sleeping  Tri- 
mousette,  then  turned  away  putting  his  sleeve 
to  his  face.  Trimousette  stirred,  and  with- 
drawing herself  from  the  duke's  arm,  looked 
with  calm,  wide-open  eyes  from  her  husband 
to  the  turnkey  and  back  again.  In  the  strong 
white  moonlight  she  saw  clearly  the  faces  of 
both  men. 

"  It  is  to-morrow,  I  think,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  to-morrow,"  replied  the  duke,  with- 
out a  tremor. 

"  Monsieur  Robespierre — "  began  the  turn- 
104 


To-morrow 


key,  and  then  in  terror  and  rage  stopped, 
shaking  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  St. 
Honore,  where  Robespierre  lodged. 

"  After  all,  it  is  well  to  leave  a  feast  before 
the  candles  are  burned  out,"  said  the  duke, 
smiling,  and  Trimousette  added : 

"  It  is  not  Monsieur  Robespierre.  It  is  the 
will  of  the  good  God  who  calls  us,  and  we 
pass  over  the  short  bridge,  not  the  long  one 
of  age  and  disease,  but  the  shortest  of  all — 
and  we  pass  together." 

The  turnkey  kept  on  in  a  shaking  voice: 

"  Not  a  soul  but  you  knows  who  is  to  be 
posted  to-morrow,  but  I  can  tell  you  of  two — 
the  sister  of  Louis  Capet,  Madame  Elizabeth, 
and  the  little  boy  who  calls  himself  Vicomte 
d'Aronda,  and  saunters  about  the  garden  so 
jauntily." 

"  It  is  a  great  honor  to  us  that  we  go  with 
the  King's  sister,  and  as  for  the  little  lad — 
well,  he  has  no  father,  no  mother,  no  brother, 

no  sister " 

105 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

It  was  the  duke  who  said  this.  Trimousette 
had  ever  shown  something  like  weakness 
about  the  boy,  and,  falling  back  in  her  chair, 
struck  her  hands  together  with  a  gesture  of 
anguish. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE   STAR 

HE  night  in  its  pale  glory  passed, 
and  the  morning  dawned  as 
fair  as  if  the  world  were  fresh- 
ly made.  The  duke  waited 
until  seven  o'clock  for  Tri- 
mousette  to  wake;  she  had  slept  like  an  in- 
fant since  midnight.  Then  he  went  and  roused 
her.  She  arose  and  dressed  quickly,  and  be- 
gan those  preparations  which  even  the  poor- 
est prisoner  makes  before  leaving  the  world. 
There  were  some  books  to  be  disposed  of 
and  a  few  clothes,  and  the  pot  with  the 
107 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

geranium,  now  bearing  three  splendid  scarlet 
flowers. 

"  It  is  well  you  have  no  shoes  to  leave,  ex- 
cept what  you  are  wearing,  for  there  is  no 
woman's  foot  in  France  small  enough  for 
your  shoes,"  said  the  duke,  with  an  air  of 
compliment,  and  Trimousette  nodded  almost 
gayly. 

At  nine  o'clock  Duval  came  to  them.  The 
duke  was  calmly  writing  at  his  table,  and 
Trimousette  was  smoothing  out  her  white 
gown  upon  the  bed. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  Duval,"  she  cried  cheer- 
fully, "  we  have  decided  to  make  you  our 
executor.  The  duke  means  to  leave  you  his 
pen  and  these  books.  You  can  sell  the  books 
for  ten  francs  perhaps.  My 'clothes  are  few 
and  very  shabby,  but  you  may  have  a  daugh- 
ter or  perhaps  a  niece  whom  they  will  fit,  so 
pray  take  them.  Also,  I  give  you  my  gera- 
nium, but  I  shall  pluck  the  blossoms — one  for 
the  duke  to  wear  to  the  Place  de  la  Revolu- 
108 


The  Star 


tion,  one  for  myself,  and  one  for  the  little 
Vicomte  d'Aronda." 

"  Thank  you,  madame,"  replied  Duval 
gruffly.  "  I — I — have  not  yet  told  the  boy. 
I  don't  know  how  he  will  take  it." 

"  Have  no  fear.  His  name  is  d'Aronda," 
said  the  duke,  looking  up  from  his  writing. 

At  noon  the  great  doors  clanged  open,  and 
the  prisoners,  marching  out,  saw  the  list  of 
the  condemned  posted  up  in  the  vast,  gloomy 
archway.  The  list,  which  was  long,  was  head- 
ed with  the  name  of  the  King's  sister,  the 
gentle  and  pious  Elizabeth.  Next  came  the 
names  of  Citizen  and  Citizeness  Belgarde,  and 
the  twenty-fourth  and  last  name  was  that  of 
Louis  Frederic  d'Aronda. 

At  this  noontime,  as  on  any  other,  Trimou- 
sette  and  the  duke  walked  in  the  garden. 
They  wished  to  say  good-by  to  their  friends 
among  their  fellow  prisoners,  a  brave  custom, 
rarely  omitted.  As  the  duke  and  Trimou- 
sette  passed  out  into  the  gloomy  corridor,  they 
109 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

saw,  standing  before  the  posted  list  in  the 
archway,  the  little  vicomte,  quite  smiling  and 
composed. 

"  It  is  a  great  honor,"  he  said,  bowing  low 
with  boyish  bravado,  "  to  go  with  the  King's 
sister,  and  also  an  honor  to  go  with  the  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Belgarde." 

"  Death  is  nothing,"  cried  the  duke  debo- 
nairly, laying  his  hand  on  the  lad's  shoulder. 
"  I  have  faced  him  a  hundred  times  in  fight, 
and  if  you  look  him  straight  in  the  eye  and 
advance  upon  him,  he  grows  quite  amiable  to 
look  at." 

"  So  my  father  always  said,"  replied  the 
boy,  "  and  none  of  my  family,  monsieur,  knew 
fear.  Even  my  sister,  only  twenty,  was  as 
cool  as  any  soldier,  and  surely  a  gentleman 
cannot  let  his  sister  surpass  him  in  valor.  Oh, 
if  I  die  bravely,  my  father  will  praise  me,  and 
my  mother  will  smile  upon  me,  and  so  will 
my  sister  when  we  meet ;  and  if  I  show  the 
white  feather,  I  should  be  afraid  to  face  them." 
1 10 


The  Star 


"  You  shall  go  in  the  cart  with  us,"  said 
Trimousette,  "  and  we  will  tell  Madame 
Elizabeth  that  you  are  a  brave  boy,  a  real 
d'Aronda." 

That  day,  too,  was  bright  and  cloudless, 
and  one  of  the  most  peaceful  Trimousette 
ever  spent. 

At  six  o'clock  there  resounded  through  the 
great  stone  corridors  of  the  prison  a  loud, 
echoing  voice,  calling  the  condemned  to  ap- 
pear, •  and  at  the  same  moment  the  tumbrils 
rattled  into  the  courtyard.  Duval  unlocked  the 
doors  of  the  cells,  and  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Belgarde  came  forth,  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  little  vicomte  appeared.  He 
had  made  as  much  of  a  toilet  as  he  could,  and 
carried  carefully  in  his  hand  a  new,  though 
coarse,  white  handkerchief. 

Trimousette  wore  upon  the  breast  of  her 

white  gown  a  vivid  red  geranium  blossom, 

and   another   blazed   upon   the    lapel   of   the 

duke's  threadbare  brocade  coat.     The  third 

in 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

blossom  Trimousette  pinned  upon  the  little 
vicomte's  breast,  and  he  kissed  her  hand  for  it. 

Once  in  the  courtyard,  the  guards  objected 
to  the  boy  going  in  the  same  cart  with  Tri- 
mousette and  her  husband — the  cart  would  be 
too  heavy. 

"  But  he  is  so  small — he  takes  up  so  little 
room,"  urged  Trimousette,  with  soft  pleading 
in  her  eyes.  And  then,  the  lad,  without  wait- 
ing for  permission,  jumped  into  the  cart  and 
folded  his  arms  defiantly,  as  much  as  to  say: 

"  Turn  me  out  if  you  dare." 

They  allowed  him  to  remain. 

There  were  twelve  tumbrils  in  all  for  the 
twenty-four  condemned  persons.  The  very 
last  to  appear  was  a  gentle,  middle-aged  lady, 
the  dead  King's  sister,  Madame  Elizabeth. 
Each  of  the  condemned  persons  made  her  a 
low  bow,  the  little  vicomte  scrambling  out 
of  the  cart  to  make  his  reverence.  The  eyes 
of  Madame  Elizabeth  grew  troubled  as  she 
looked  at  the  lad;  the  women  and  men  could 
112 


The  Star 


die,  but  the  little  lads — ah,  it  was  too  hard! 
The  Duke  of  Belgarde,  as  the  man  of  highest 
rank  present,  had  the  honor  of  assisting  Ma- 
dame Elizabeth  into  the  cart,  for  which  she 
thanked  him  sweetly.  Her  hands  were  the 
first  tied,  the  guards  knowing  well  she  would 
make  no  resistance,  and  that  the  rest  would 
do  as  the  King's  sister  did.  When  it  came  to 
the  duke's  turn,  he  said : 

"  Will  you  kindly  permit  me  to  assist  ma- 
dame,  my  wife,  into  the  cart  first?  Then  I 
shall  submit  willingly." 

The  ruffian  in  attendance  assented  with  a 
grin,  and  the  duke  gallantly  helped  Trimou- 
sette  into  the  tumbril,  and  then  putting  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  they  were  tied,  after 
which  he  jumped  lightly  in  himself  and  cried: 

"  Drive  on,  coachman !  Straight  ahead, 
first  turning  to  the  right !  " 

The  procession  of  the  twelve  carts  moved. 
j,n  one  sat  a  solitary  person,  in  another  sat 
three,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  de  Belgarde  and 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

the  young  Vicomte  d'Aronda.  The  evening 
was  as  clear  as  crystal  and  the  river,  like  a 
string  of  pearls,  slipped  softly  from  the  green 
valley  of  the  Seine,  under  the  bridges,  the 
statues  looking  down  upon  the  silvery  stream, 
past  the  palaces,  in  whose  windows  the  sun- 
set blazed  blood  red.  The  great  city  was  still 
and  breathless,  as  it  always  was  when  these 
strange  processions  started  for  the  great  open 
space  where  Madame  Guillotine  held  her 
court.  Toward  the  west,  the  sky  turned  from 
a  flame  of  crimson  to  an  ocean  of  golden  light, 
and  then  to  a  splendor  of  pale  purple  and 
green  and  rose.  Presently,  a  single  palpitat- 
ing star  came  out  softly  in  the  heavens,  now 
dark  blue,  and  shone  with  a  veiled  but  steady 
brilliance,  growing  larger  and  brighter  as  the 
daylight  waned.  Trimousette,  jolting  along 
upon  the  rude  plank  laid  crosswise  the  tum- 
bril, leaned  a  little  toward  the  duke,  who,  al- 
though pinioned,  yet  supported  her  as  the 
cart  rattled  along  the  stony  street.  The  boy 
114 


The  Star 


sat  at  her  feet,  his  look  fixed  upon  her  face. 
He  saw  neither  fear  nor  grief,  but  perfect 
peace.  From  Trimousette  the  lad  turned  his 
glance  upon  the  duke,  who  had  a  cool  and 
victorious  eye  even  in  that  hour. 

"  I  said  a  great  many  prayers  last  night," 
said  the  boy,  after  a  pause,  "  and  so  that  busi- 
ness is  finished.  I  leave  all  with  God,  as  a 
gentleman  should  who  treats  God  as  if  He 
were  a  gentleman  and  meant  to  keep  His  word 
to  us." 

"  He  will  keep  His  word  to  us,"  answered 
Trimousette.  The  boy's  courage  charmed  her, 
and  she  thought,  if  long  life  had  been  given  to 
her  she  would  have  wished  for  such  a  son  as 
this  Louis  Frederic  d'Aronda. 

"  When  first  I  was  in  prison  I  rehearsed 
this  scene  to  myself  and  concluded  there  was 
nothing  about  it  to  keep  a  man  awake  at 
night,"  said  the  duke.  "  I  think  with  you, 
my  young  vicomte,  if  there  is  a  God,  He  is 
a  gentleman,  and  will  treat  us  poor  devils  of 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

mortals    fairly.      Is    not    that   true,    Trimou- 
sette  ?  " 

"  Quite  true,"  replied  Trimousette. 

So,  with  calm  and  peaceful  talk,  they  made 
the  journey,  amid  crowds  of  staring  and  agi- 
tated people,  who  packed  the  streets  and  made 
black  the  tops  of  the  houses.  A  murmur  of 
pity  for  the  little  vicomte,  sitting  in  the  bottom 
of  the  cart,  and  talking  so  cheerfully,  swept 
over  the  multitude.  The  women  in  the  throb- 
bing crowds  asked  each  other  his  name  and 
sometimes  broke  into  sobbing  as  he  passed. 
This  agitated  compassion  troubled  the  boy, 
and  he  said,  with  his  lips  trembling  a  little: 

"  I  wish  they  would  not  say  '  Poor  lad ! 
Poor  little  boy ! '  I  am  afraid  it  will  make  me 
weep,  and  that  is  what  I  should  hate  to  do." 

"  If  you  are  a  man,  you  will  not  weep,"  an- 
swered the  duke,  who  knew  what  chord  to 
touch.  "  You  should  say  to  them :  '  Ladies, 
I  would  take  off  my  hat  to  you  if  my  hands 
were  not  tied.'  " 

116 


The  Star 


The  boy's  eyes  sparkled ;  he  loved  to  play 
the  man  and  the  gallant ;  so  he  spoke  to  the 
crowd  as  the  duke  had  told  him,  and  was  in- 
nocently vain  of  his  own  coolness. 

At  last,  the  carts,  jolting  steadily  onward, 
reached  the  vast  clear  space  of  the  Place  de  la 
Revolution,  crammed  with  people,  and  in  the 
open  place  in  the  middle  a  great  Thing,  black 
and  gaunt,  reared  itself  high  in  the  air.  At 
the  top  a  blade  of  blue  steel  blazed  in  the  sun- 
set glow. 

The  first  to  dismount  from  the  carts  was 
gentle  Madame  Elizabeth.  She  seated  herself 
placidly  on  one  of  the  twenty-four  chairs 
ranged  around  in  the  circle.  For  the  first 
time  it  was  noted  of  this  simple  and  kindly 
creature,  once  known  as  a  Child  of  France, 
something  majestic  in  her  demeanor.  She 
looked  about  her  calmly,  as  much  as  to  say : 
"  It  matters  little  to  me,  Elizabeth,  a  Daugh- 
ter of  France,  what  you  may  do." 

Another  woman,  who  had  also  been  meek 
117 


The  Last  DucJiess  of  Belgarde 

all  her  life,  showed  a  stateliness  of  bearing 
which  might  well  become  a  duchess.  This 
was  Trimousette,  Duchess  of  Belgarde.  She 
was  the  next  to  alight,  after  Madame  Eliza- 
beth, and  took  her  place  of  rank,  next  the 
royal  princess,  first  making  her  a  low  curt- 
sey, which  the  princess  rose  and  returned. 
Each  lady  present  made  two  curtseys  to  this 
royal  lady  and  each  man  two  bows,  one  on 
dismounting  from  the  cart,  and  another  be- 
fore ascending  the  rude  stairs  to  the  platform 
where  the  glittering  ax  worked  in  its  groove. 
The  most  graceful  bow  of  all  was  made  by 
the  Duke  of  Belgarde ;  the  most  debonair  by 
the  Vicomte  d'Aronda. 

The  condemned  persons  passed  in  the  order 
of  their  rank ;  those  of  the  lowest  rank  going 
first.  The  little  vicomte  being  last  of  all, 
except  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Belgarde, 
passed  before  the  royal  lady,  sitting  still  and 
stately  in  her  rough  wooden  chair.  Twenty 
persons  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  platform, 
118 


The  Star 


and  twenty  times  the  ax  flashed  up  and  down 
in  its  groove.  From  the  surging  multitudes 
around  came  occasionally  gaspings  and  sob- 
bings, and  even  sometimes  a  wild  shriek  cut 
the  twilight  air.  But  not  one  sob  or  shriek 
came  from  those  who  went  to  their  death, 
each  passing  bravely  and  silently. 

The  twenty-first  name  to  be  called  was  that 
of  Citizen  d'Aronda,  and  the  little  vicomte, 
standing  up,  cried: 

"  I  am  here  —  Louis  Frederic,  Vicomte 
d'Aronda ! " 

He  went  first  to  Trimousette  and  kneeled 
to  kiss  her  hand. 

"  Au  revoir,  madame,"  he  cried ;  "  we  meet 
again  shortly,  but  meamvhile  I  shall  have  seen 
madame,  my  mother.'' 

"  Yes,  we  shall  meet  soon,  and  in  the  great- 
est happiness,"  answered  Trimousette.  Her 
voice  trembled  a  little — she  had  been  less 
brave  about  the  boy  than  about  anything 
else.  And  the  duke  called  out  in  a  pleas- 
9  119 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

ant  voice,  just  as  if  the  lad  were  a  full-grown 
man: 

"  Au  revoir,  my  comrade !  " 

The  vicomte  made  his  reverence  to  Madame 
Elizabeth,  who  rose  and  returned  it  as  if  the 
lad  were  a  Marshal  of  France.  In  another 
minute  he  was  springing  up  the  wooden  steps, 
and  some  women  in  the  crowd  began  weeping 
loudly,  but  were  soon  quieted  by  the  rude 
words  and  blows  of  the  guards.  Trimousette 
did  not  see  what  happened  next.  Her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  west,  in  which  the  single 
star  was  growing  more  beautifully  brilliant 
every  moment. 

Then  it  became  the  turn  of  Citizen  Belgarde, 
once  known  as  the  Duke  of  Belgarde.  He 
knelt  and  kissed  Trimousette's  hand  and  rose 
and  kissed  her  cheek,  saying  with  a  smile : 

"I  believe  with  the  little  lad  that  God  is 
a  gentleman,  and  has  not  brought  us  together 
only  to  tear  us  apart." 

Trimousette    -answered     with     the     sweet, 

120 


The  Star 


bright  smile  which  had  only  been  hers  since 
her  honeymoon  began : 

"It  is  a  good  belief.  Wait  for  me  there," 
and  pointed  toward  the  star,  now  shining 
large  and  bright  in  the  purple  heavens. 

Nevertheless,  she  turned  away  her  head, 
and  two  warm  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 
Most  men  die  as  they  have  lived,  and  so  did 
Fernand,  Duke  of  Belgarde.  After  making 
his  reverence  to  Madame  Elizabeth,  the  duke 
walked  up  the  rude  stairs  coolly,  his  steady 
tread  resounding  loudly.  Then  he  shouted  out : 

"  Long  live  the  King !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  crash,  some  movement 
and  commotion  on  the  scaffold.  Then  all  was 
over  in  this  world  for  the  Duke  of  Belgarde, 
and  but  little  remained  for  the  wife  who  had 
ever  loved  him  better  than  her  life. 

Trimousette  rose  quickly,  made  her  rever- 
ence to  Madame  Elizabeth,  and  when  her 
name  was  called  she  was  already  standing  at 
the  foot  of  the  wooden  steps. 

121 


The  Last  Duchess  of  Belgarde 

Every  man  who  looked  at  Trimousette 
wished  to  help  her;  even  one  of  the  guards, 
seeing  how  small  and  slight  she  was,  would 
have  assisted  her,  but  she  said  to  him  with  a 
kind  of  gentle  haughtiness: 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur,  but  I  do  not  need 
your  help." 

The  executioner  tore  the  white  fichu  from 
her  neck,  leaving  its  unsunned  beauty  exposed 
to  the  gaze  of  thousands  of  eyes.  Trimou- 
sette's  black  eyes  flashed,  and  a  deep  red 
blush  flooded  her  face  and  milk-white  neck. 
She  turned  for  one  moment  toward  the  star 
trembling  in  the  western  sky,  and  then,  with 
a  glorified  face,  laid  her  dark  head  upon  the 
wooden  block,  and  passed  smiling  into  the 
Great  Silence. 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR. 

The  Victory. 

By  MOLLY  ELLIOTT  SEAWELL,  author  of  "The 
Chateau  of  Montplaisir,"  "  The  Sprightly  Romance 
of  Marsac,"  etc.  Illustrated.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  With  so  delicate  a  touch  and  appreciation  of  the  detail 
of  domestic  and  plantation  life,  with  so  wise  comprehension 
of  the  exalted  and  sometimes  stilted  notions  of  Southern 
honor  and  with  humorous  depiction  of  African  fidelity  and 
bombast  to  interest  and  amuse  him,  it  only  gradually  dawns 
on  a  reader  that  '  The  Victory '  is  the  truest  and  most 
tragic  presentation  yet  before  us  of  the  rending  of  home 
ties,  the  awful  passions,  the  wounded  affections  personal 
and  national,  and  the  overwhelming  questions  of  honor 
which  weighed  down  a  people  in  the  war  of  son  against 
father  and  brother  against  brother." — Hartford  Courant. 

"Among  the  many  romances  written  recently  about  the 
Civil  War,  this  one  by  Miss  Seawell  takes  a  high  place.  .  .  . 
Altogether,  'The  Victory,'  a  title  significant  in  several 
ways,  makes  a  strong  appeal  to  the  lover  of  a  good  tale." 

— The  Outlook. 

"  Miss  Seawell's  narrative  is  not  only  infused  with  a 
tender  and  sympathetic  spirit  of  romance  and  surcharged 
with  human  interests,  but  discloses,  in  addition,  careful  and 
minute  study  of  local  conditions  and  characteristic  man- 
nerisms. It  is  an  intimate  study  of  life  on  a  Virginia 
plantation  during  an  emergent  and  critical  period  of  Amer- 
ican history." — Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  romances  that  make,  by  spirit  as  well  as 
letter,  for  youth  and  high  feeling.  It  embodies,  perhaps,  the 
best  work  this  author  yet  has  done." — Chicago  Record- Her  aid. 

"Aside  from  the  engaging  story  itself  and  the  excellent 
manner  in  which  it  is  told  there  is  much  of  historic  interest 
in  this  vivid  word-picture  of  the  customs  and  manners  of  a 
period  which  has  formed  the  background  of  much  fiction." 

— Brooklyn  Citizen, 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  -THE  FIGHTING  CHANCE." 


The  Younger  Set. 

A  Novel  by  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS.  Illus- 
trated by  G.  C.  Wilmshurst.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

This  is  a  famous  novel  of  New  York  society  ;  a 
brilliant  picture  of  American  wealth  in  its  romance, 
its  sins,  its  splendors,  its  divorces  and  its  sports; 
a  love  story  such  as  only  Robert  W.  Chambers  can 
write.  It  is  stronger,  tenser,  better  than  the  same 
author's  greatest  success,  "  The  Fighting  Chance." 
Richly  illustrated  by  G.  C.  Wilmshurst. 

"  It  is  brightly  told,  replete  with  the  wit  and  sparkle 
and  charm  that  invests  everything  Mr.  Chambers  writes. 
It  is  a  delightful  sojourn  among  people  one  could  wish  to 
know." — Kansas  City  Star. 

"  It  is  written  with  a  freshness  and  vigor  that  cannot  be 
too  much  appreciated  and  praised." — Salt  Lake  Tribune. 

"It  is  the  best  story  Mr.  Chambers  has  ever  written." 

— Cleveland  Leader. 

"  The  most  popular  writer  in  the  country  has  improved 
upon  his  own  very  popular  '  Fighting  Chance.'  " 

— New  York  World. 


D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


3  11 58  00081  3674 


PS 
2797 


_  DO  NOT   REMOVE 
THIS  BOOK  CARD 


University  Reseorch  Library 


